


If I loved you less

by Jothowrote



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, F/F, M/M, Moderate Peril, Moderate Violence, P&P and Emma and Poldark mash-up, background azu/sasha, extremely anachronistic, rqbb 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26250859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jothowrote/pseuds/Jothowrote
Summary: The quiet country lives of Mr Smith and his ward, Miss Rackett, are shaken up when Sir MacGuffingham and Mr Al Tahan move into the nearby MacGuffingham Hall. With them comes danger, intrigue, romance, and an incredible amount of yearning. A Regency AU for the Rusty Quill Big Bang 2020, with wonderful art byvenusrisin.
Relationships: Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan/Zolf Smith
Comments: 18
Kudos: 65
Collections: Rusty Quill Big Bang 2020





	If I loved you less

**Author's Note:**

> This was a brilliant RQBB, made even more so by the wonderful artist [venusrisin](https://venusrisin.tumblr.com/) who drew two wonderful works for this fic AND a header!

Oscar Wilde always made sure to drop in to see Zolf when he was down in the West Country on business, since it was so very far from London and a good few hours from the fashionable Bath. The rareness of these visits was perhaps the only part of them that Zolf found bearable, as he had to suffer through afternoon tea, dinner, or late lunch with Wilde only once or twice a year. It was Wilde’s first visit that year as bad storms in the winter had limited travel, and so Zolf knew he had been given a longer reprieve than usual. He dressed in his finer clothes with barely a grumble and met Wilde at the door with an almost passable smile.

Wilde, as usual, was dressed like a London dandy, bedecked in the latest fashions and colours. Compared to Zolf’s fine but sturdy and sombre country gear, Wilde looked like an exotic bird of paradise. 

‘Good afternoon, Mr Smith,’ he said, in his usual smarmy tone. It immediately set Zolf’s teeth grinding. ‘Still answering your own door, I see?’

‘Mr Wilde,’ Zolf bit out. ‘How nice it is to see you.’ 

If anything, Wilde’s smile grew wider in response – he had always enjoyed revelling in Zolf’s discomfort.

‘We’ll be taking tea in the sitting room, I assume?’ Wilde asked, breezing straight past Zolf through the hall and into the house proper.

Zolf sighed and closed the door.

Wilde had already made himself comfortable on a sofa and was helping himself to the tea and sandwiches the cook had set out ten minutes previously. 

‘Will your ward be joining us today?’ Wilde asked.

Zolf sat down heavily in his favourite armchair and sighed.

‘I have no idea. I last saw Miss Rackett at breakfast, and she said she’d be out most of the day.’

Sasha had actually said nothing of the kind, though she had come down to breakfast wearing her walking boots, and Zolf had assumed she was going to make herself scarce for the day in order to avoid Wilde’s visit.

‘Ah. A pity. Well, I imagine she would have been bored by our talk of business anyway.’

Zolf, for once, agreed.

‘And how is business, Mr Smith?’

‘In a word? Poor.’

‘Oh?’ Wilde’s eyebrow raised, ever so slightly, as he peered at Zolf over his teacup. ‘How so? I haven’t seen anything on your accounts to suggest it.’

‘That’s because I am managing it,’ Zolf said. ‘The weather this winter, though mild in temperature, brought storms and heavy rainfall with it.’

‘Hasn’t it just,’ Wilde hummed. ‘The scene in London has been dreadfully boring – everyone has been staying in, to avoid the rain and the wind.’

‘Yes, well, it may have ruined some of your precious parties, but here there has been some significant flooding damage in many of the mines. Some I’ve had to close entirely, for fear that there would be accidents.’

‘Closed, Mr Smith?’

‘Closed, yes – I was not willing to risk men’s lives when I have saved enough of the profits to get by until the weather clears.’

‘And now Spring is upon us, and it seems as if the worst of the weather is behind us. Yes, Mr Smith. Perhaps that was wise of you.’

‘it has not hurt us overly, but there will be a shortfall.’ Zolf sighed. ‘I have been thinking of ways to lessen it but, for the moment, it is probably best simply to weather it as we did the storms, and hope that we strike a rich vein in the summer. There are several shafts that seem very promising, and my miners are experienced and knowledgeable in these things.’

‘As are you, Mr Smith.’ Wilde sipped his tea delicately. ‘I think that you have dealt with these difficulties admirably. The Langdon mines are a hair away from bankruptcy, and yet the eldest son continues to fling his money about the capital as though it grows on trees.’

‘Perhaps they were, but with our mines out of commission for the time being, they will no doubt attempt to monopolise the market.’ Zolf frowned. ‘You already knew about the issues with the weather, and the mines?’

‘Oh, of course,’ Wilde said. ‘You know I like to keep my finger on the pulse of all my investments.’

‘So why did you insist on this meeting, when you had only a short time here before returning to town?’

‘I like to hear the state of play from the horse’s mouth, as it were,’ Wilde said, delighting in Zolf’s frustration and annoyance. ‘And besides, the Smith mines are particularly close to my heart. Our fathers set them up together, after all.’

‘Hmm,’ Zolf grunted. To prevent himself from saying anything inflammatory, he ate a delicate sandwich in one bite – so when Sasha barged into the room in her muddy walking boots and clothes, he almost choked on it.

‘Zolf, you’ll never guess what… oh.’ Sasha halted abruptly in the middle of the room. Mud dripped from her long coat onto the expensive rug.

‘Ah, Miss Rackett,’ Wilde said, rising from his seat gracefully, his left eyebrow rising even higher, ‘how delightful to see you.’

Sasha stared at him.

‘Hello,’ she said, suddenly shy. Wilde cast a rather sniffy look at her faded men’s clothes.

‘Have you run out of dresses? I thought we had provided you with an adequate wardrobe, but I do suppose young ladies get through dresses faster than I would anticipate.’

‘Oh, no thanks, Mr Wilde,’ Sasha mumbled, remembering her manners at the last minute. ‘I’ve got them all upstairs.’

‘Then why do you wear… those articles?’

Zolf resisted the temptation to bury his head in his hands.

‘I don’t like dresses,’ Sasha said sulkily.

‘They’re far too fine to wear about the countryside,’ Zolf said, jumping in. ‘Sasha goes for lots of walks, and as you can see, the mud… it, uh, sticks.’

Sasha nodded violently.

‘Yeah. So Zolf let me wear some of his brother’s old stuff,’ Sasha said.

Zolf glared at her, trying to get her to shut up. She just glared right back. 

‘Well, I’m sure no one sees you down here,’ Wilde said, relaxing slightly, ‘so no one can use your appearance to judge either I or Mr Smith as being poor guardians for you.’

‘Zol- Mr Smith’s a great guardian,’ Sasha said quickly. ‘And nobody ever sees me. Although that’s what I wanted to tell you,’ she said, her eyes lighting up with excitement once more as she turned back to Zolf. ‘There’s loads of carts and wagons up at MacGuffingham Hall. Lots of servants moving furniture about.’

‘But the Hall’s been empty for years, since MacGuffingham’s widow died,’ Zolf said.

‘This was the other item I wished to discuss with you, Mr Smith,’ Wilde said, sitting back down and helping himself to more tea. ‘Some of my acquaintances from London will be your new neighbours – Sir Bertrand is the late MacGuffingham’s son, and his dear friend Mr al Tahan will be staying at MacGuffingham Hall with him for the foreseeable future. I told them that you, my business associate, would be nearby and happy to help them acclimatise to their new home.’

‘Why would they move here?’ Zolf asked, annoyed. ‘There’s hardly a packed social calendar. Surely Bath is more to their taste.’ He imagined the two newcomers as to be from the same mould as Wilde – much too foppish and delicate for the Herefordshire countryside.

‘Gossip flying around the ton suggests that Sir Bertrand has fallen upon hard times and had to sell the townhouse,’ Wilde said, a glint in his eye. ‘The family Hall is his last asset and it was detailed in his father’s will that it could not be sold, but merely passed down from heir to heir. Until such time as there is no heir left,’ he added. 

‘So, Wilde, you came here for gossip, not for business,’ Zolf said. But he was intrigued, despite his better intentions. Sasha, on the other hand, had grown bored of the conversation and was inspecting the cake tray. ‘And what of his friend? Al Tahan, you said?’

‘A son of wealthy foreign bankers,’ Wilde said, with a dismissive wave of a beringed hand. ‘Young, attractive, available – though currently not looking to settle down. A pity.’ Wilde shot a look at Sasha. ‘The company he kept in London was always of a high calibre, but down here I’m sure Miss Rackett would be a perfectly viable option. If she could be forced into a dress.’

Zolf snorted. 

‘And if she would ever be so inclined as to look for a husband,’ he said.

Sasha, her mouth full of cake, looked up to see them both staring at her.

‘What?’ she asked. Crumbs cascaded from her mouth, down her coat, and onto the expensive rug to mix in with the mud off her boots. Wilde sighed.

‘Perhaps that was overly fanciful of me,’ he said. Then his eyes narrowed shrewdly. ‘But she is not the only option – Mr al Tahan might be swayed by a strong face and a captain’s uniform.’

It was Sasha’s turn to snort – Zolf blushed deep crimson and stood abruptly, dusting himself down.

‘Oh, look at the time, Mr Wilde,’ he said acidly. ‘You wouldn’t want to miss your train, now, would you?’

‘Quite right, Mr Smith,’ Wilde said, also standing, his eyes twinkling with mirth. ‘I should be off at once.’

Zolf followed him to the door, hurrying him along as subtly as he could.

‘It was delightful, as always, Mr Smith. Miss Rackett,’ Wilde said, nodding to each of them in turn. ‘I will perhaps see you in London in the summer?’

‘Perhaps,’ Zolf said, baring his teeth in an approximation of a smile. He tried to shut the door but at the last second Wilde stuck his silver-topped cane in the doorway.

‘Oh, I almost forgot,’ he said. ‘I told Sir MacGuffingham that you would drop in to see them tomorrow lunchtime, to welcome them to the area. You wouldn’t want to disappoint your new neighbours now, would you?’

Zolf growled an expletive, but Wilde had already hurried off to his carriage.

‘That man!’ He yelled to the house at large, slamming the door properly closed. The force of it shook the walls.

Sasha, cake still in hand, sighed.

‘I’m gonna hafta wear a dress, aren’t I,’ she said, sadly.

*

It took both Zolf and Mr Cardy two hours that afternoon to dig the old carriage out of the stables and dust down the necessary tack and gear. The manor house was close enough to town and to the mines for Zolf and the staff to walk, and Sasha spent most of her days rambling on the moors and forests of the grounds and beyond, so the carriage had not been used for over five years. If they needed to embark on a longer journey – Zolf’s business sometimes took him to London, though he rarely stayed longer than he needed to – they used the horses to get to the nearest train station.

‘I wonder what they’ll be like,’ Sasha pondered, as they ate their dinner in dread of the next day.

‘They’re Wilde’s friends, so probably much like him,’ Zolf said bitterly, stabbing his fork violently into a green bean. ‘Pompous popinjays.’

‘I think there’s more to Wilde than that, though,’ Sasha said, staring into her wine. ‘He got me out of London in one piece, after all. Even though Barrett was after me. That must have been difficult.’

‘Wilde has friends in high places,’ Zolf said. ‘He used his contacts, no doubt.’

‘He also knew enough about my character to make you my ward,’ she pointed out. ‘Rather than one of his rich, idle friends who would have made me wear dresses, embroider, and learn to play the piano.’ She shuddered.

‘That’s true.’ Zolf frowned down at his admittedly delicious dinner. ‘But he was much too pleased with himself when he told us about the lunch engagement. And anyone named Sir Bertrand MacGuffingham cannot have a solid head on his shoulders.’

‘Mr al Tahan might, though,’ Sasha added. ‘Wilde seemed to think pretty highly of _him_.’

‘Did he? I couldn’t hear over his annoying attempts to marry us both off.’

‘Well, when’s the last time you can remember Wilde calling anyone _attractive_? Other than himself, I mean?’ 

Sasha had a point. Zolf shrugged.

‘We will go tomorrow, to be polite,’ he said, gesticulating firmly with his fork. ‘We will do what Wilde has forced us into. We’ll bring a gift, to be neighbourly. And then we’ll go home and get on with our lives. They’re London folk, anyway,’ he said, grumpily. ‘They’ll get bored of the countryside quickly enough, and then we’ll have peace again.’

*  
Two years previously, Zolf had made the grave error of forgetting that he owed Oscar Wilde a favour. He had forgotten because he had owed it for a very long time, and Wilde never mentioned it. In fact, Zolf forgot he owed it right up to the moment Wilde appeared suddenly on his doorstep to collect, a gangly youth in an expensive dress lurking behind him.

‘Ah, Zolf,’ he said, smiling sharply. 

Zolf hated that smile.

Later, as they all sat awkwardly in the lounge, Zolf appraised the girl. She was tall – taller than him, though Zolf was not exactly a tall man – and she stared down at her knees for the entirety of the conversation, despite it being mostly about her. Her hair had been done up in an over-the-top, frothy concoction, and the sides had been curled into such tight ringlets that they bounced around her face like coiled springs whenever she so much as twitched. Her dress was a soft lavender made of expensive silk. It was doing its level best to hide her boyish, lanky figure, but was failing miserably.

‘She needs a guardian, and a quiet place to live,’ Wilde said, still smiling. ‘Out of all my acquaintances, you are the most fitting.’

‘I have no experience of being a guardian,’ Zolf complained. He frowned at the girl again. ‘We don’t have any society parties down here. No chances to wear pretty dresses and get dolled up.’

The girl – Miss Rackett – did not look up from her knees. Her ringlets quivered.

‘That will not be a problem,’ Wilde said, smoothly. ‘London proved to be… too much for her. What she needs is fresh air and peace and quiet. And you owe me, Mr Smith,’ he said, glaring at him with suddenly steely eyes.

Zolf harrumphed, but knew he couldn’t refuse Wilde.

The one servant Zolf kept on other than the housekeeper – the housekeeper’s husband – took Miss Rackett’s bags inside to one of the spare bedrooms, and she and Zolf saw Wilde off at the door.

‘Look after yourself, Miss Rackett,’ Wilde said, something unusually soft about his manner. Rather than kiss her hand, he bowed from a respectful distance. ‘Look after her, Mr Smith,’ Wilde said in an undertone as they shook hands. ‘She’s… unique.’

Zolf felt dread shiver down his spine. 

But nothing happened. He and his new ward had dinner and said nothing whatsoever to one another. She sloped off upstairs as soon as the meal was over, and Zolf had a whisky in the lounge to relax himself before also going to bed.

The next day, everything went to hell.

‘We can’t find her!’ The housekeeper wailed, from where she stood at the bottom of the stairs. 

‘Have you searched the whole house?’ Zolf asked, hurrying out of his room and trying to button his shirt and fasten his belt at the same time.

‘She’s not in her room, or downstairs!’ the housekeeper cried.

‘You and Mr Cardy take downstairs, I’ll look up here,’ he called from the landing.

The housekeeper made a strange sort of wailing sound in response before hurrying off, and Zolf took a quick, deep breath before heading to Miss Rackett’s room. 

She had been installed in what had been one of the guest bedrooms – Zolf had vague memories of his mother using it for her visitors. It had pale pink walls and delicate furniture, and its own small water closet for convenience. The door was wide open, and Miss Rackett’s bag was still on the dresser, unopened. The bed hadn’t been slept in, and when Zolf walked cautiously inside, he found the fancy silk dress lying in a sad, deflated heap on the floor.

Zolf allowed himself a short, sharp swear word before leaving the empty bedroom and continuing his search.

The house was large – much larger than it needed to be for just him, the cook, and the cook’s husband. Zolf hated rattling around the huge house like a marble in a stock pot, so he had closed off the east wing – the wing that had once been the family rooms. He himself lived in one of the other guest rooms, much smaller and more modest than the master bedroom, because it reminded him of his ship’s bunk room and that helped him get to sleep. The family wing was left unused and was separated from the rest of the house by a thick mahogany door. 

As Zolf approached the door, he could immediately see it was ajar.

He hadn’t been in the family rooms for years, and he had to steel himself before pushing the door further open and stepping inside. The floor was thick with dust, as he had asked the housekeeper to leave it be. She had chucked his cheek and given him a sad look, but complied. When Zolf looked closely at the floor now, however, he could see faint footprints in the dust layer – impressively faint, as though their owner had been trying to mask their steps. Still, they were clear enough to be trackable, and Zolf followed them down the corridor towards the family bedrooms, hurrying as he went.

The door to Feryn’s room was also ajar, and the faint footprints led right to it. Zolf slowed to a walk outside before carefully pushing it open with a finger. The room was empty, but the wardrobe and chest were both open and ransacked, clothes strewn across the dusty sheets of the bed.

And there was the sound of heavy breathing coming from within the small adjoining bathroom.

Miss Rackett was knelt on the floor of the bathroom, dressed in Zolf’s dead brother’s clothes. They were too short and too broad for her tall, thin frame. In one hand she held a kitchen knife, and in the other she held one of her tight corkscrew ringlets, which drooped sadly over her fingers. The other ringlets lay on the tiled floor, lifeless. She was shaking, though her eyes were dry.

Zolf coughed, gently, to let her know he was there. Her eyes snapped straight to him, and she watched sharply as Zolf lowered himself carefully to the floor. She reminded him of a wounded animal, a fox cowering from the hunt, and so he made a big show of getting comfortable on the dusty tiles and arranging his prosthetic leg out in front of him. Her eyes flicked quickly down to his leg before focusing once more on his face.

‘This was my brother’s room,’ Zolf said, conversationally. 

Miss Rackett just stared at him. Zolf was acutely aware of the knife still clutched in her hand, and he was a little worried at how naturally she seemed to hold it. Clearly Miss Rackett was not the society girl he had assumed.

‘Those are his clothes,’ Zolf added, nodding at her. ‘But I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you borrowing them, since he has no use for them anymore. Lucky for you, he was a bit taller than me.’

Miss Rackett said nothing.

‘If you want, we can get you some new clothes like that, ones that fit,’ he offered. 

Miss Rackett mumbled something. Zolf tried not to crow in triumph at finally getting a response.

‘Pardon?’ he asked gently.

‘I like these clothes,’ Miss Rackett repeated, a little sullenly.

‘Well, then,’ Zolf said, ‘we can at least get some tailored to fit you a little more comfortably.’

Miss Rackett stared at him, blinking with wide eyes.

‘Your brother wouldn’t mind?’ she asked quietly.

‘He’s been dead these past two decades, so I doubt it,’ Zolf said.

‘Oh, I…’ Miss Rackett trailed off. ‘I don’t like dresses,’ she said, finally. ‘They’re hard to move in.’

‘I imagine they are,’ Zolf nodded.

‘And I don’t like these… twiddly bits,’ Miss Rackett said, waving her fist about. The severed ringlet flopped about pathetically.

‘I think Mrs Cardy would be happy to help you cut your hair, if you want it shorter,’ Zolf said.

Miss Rackett just stared at him.

‘You don’t… mind?’ she stuttered out.

Zolf shrugged. ‘Why should I mind?’ he asked. ‘It’s not like wearing fancy dresses or having fancy hair is of any use to you here in the country. There aren’t any hoity toity parties. Well,’ he amended, ‘the midsummer dance at the town hall is always a bit of fun, and I wear my uniform to look presentable, but we can always get you a dress that’s more practical than the ones you brought with you from London.’

Miss Rackett just continued to stare at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. Zolf sighed.

‘Look,’ he said, gently but firmly, ‘Wilde entrusted you to me, and while I may not always like him, I trust his judgement. I promised I would look after you, and I would like you to be happy here. If that means you wear men’s clothes and have short hair, then that’s fine with me, Miss Rackett.’

Miss Rackett lowered her hands. The knife clinked against the cold tiles.

‘Sasha,’ she said. ‘M’name’s Sasha.’

‘Nice to meet you, Sasha. I’m Zolf.’

*

The next morning came all too quickly, and the time came to get into the carriage and be taken in style to MacGuffingham Hall. Zolf dressed again in the clothes he had put aside for Wilde’s visit – clothes that had not been ripped from working on the house, visiting the mines, or mended so often they were more patch than original. Sasha, to her great unhappiness, had been corralled into a dress by the housekeeper. The housekeeper’s daughter had even been enlisted from the nearby village to come help with the herculean task of tidying up Sasha’s shock of short, unruly hair. Once brushed, however, it stood up around her head like a halo and looked even more unusual. Instead, Sasha wet it down and jammed a bonnet over the top, looking desperately miserable.

She cheered up at the sight of the carriage, however, and begged Zolf to let her have a go at driving it.

‘If Mr Cardy doesn’t mind,’ Zolf said, though he regretted it not five minutes later when they took a rather sharp turn onto the road from the main gates and he hit his head on the side of the carriage. He clutched tighter at his ‘neighbourly gift’ – two dozen fresh eggs from Mrs Cardy’s hens, a couple of dusty bottles of wine from the little-used wine cellar, and some local cheeses in a neatly woven basket – and braced himself for a rough ride.

Sasha was having such fun driving that Zolf let her drive it all the way to MacGuffingham Hall. They arrived at break-neck pace, Mr Cardy only just taking control and pulling on the reins in time to bring them to a screeching stop outside the huge manor house.

‘Here we go,’ Zolf grumbled as he clambered out from the carriage, the large and unwieldy gift basket and his prosthetic leg making it exceedingly difficult. His head was already throbbing from the wild ride, and he didn’t think it was going to get any better. Sasha, even in the hated dress, leapt nimbly down from the front of the carriage and, unusually, tucked herself into Zolf’s side. He realised why a second later, when she shifted slightly and took half the weight of the basket while also giving him a support to lean against. Fondness bloomed in his chest, and not for the first time he found himself grateful to Wilde for bringing Sasha into his life. 

‘What do you think they’ll be like?’ she muttered as they advanced towards the huge entrance to MacGuffingham Hall, two servants already standing by to open the large double doors. They were even too well trained to shoot any glances at Sasha’s rakish bonnet and Zolf’s stiff limp.

‘I’m sure they’ll be perfectly affable,’ Zolf said through gritted teeth, ‘and unbearably high-brow.’

The footmen opened the huge doors silently as they approached to reveal a butler waiting for them, his face respectfully blank. 

The Smith family manor was a nice enough house for the area. Zolf had always thought it a bit too big and fancy back when he’d been a kid, and thought so even more when it had been just him rattling around inside. The Smith family manor could have fit entirely into the atrium of MacGuffingham Hall. 

A magnificent chandelier hanging directly above them. The furniture was sparse, but every piece was elaborately painted or covered in gilt, and huge artworks covered the walls. Zolf’s false leg thumped down hard on the shining marble floor with every other step.

‘This place is _fancy_ ,’ Sasha breathed. Zolf shot her a look, but she didn’t look impressed, just… incredulous. 

The Butler said nothing, his face impassive, and led them to another fancy set of double doors. He opened one of them, coughed courteously, and inclined his head.

‘Mr Smith and Miss Rackett, sir.’

‘Oh, lovely. I’m Hamid Saleh Haroun Al Tahan.’

A young-ish man had stood up from an overstuffed sofa at their entrance and was smiling brightly at them. Zolf was unsurprised to see that the man was wearing a very expensive suit that, though slightly more muted than Wilde’s usual style, nevertheless screamed wealth and taste. Zolf assumed, because of the man’s wealth and good taste, and his Egyptian features, that he was the banker friend Wilde had mentioned. Zolf was a little horrified to discover that Wilde had not been lying when he’d called Al Tahan attractive. In fact, he might have even been understating it.

‘Mr Al Tahan,’ the butler announced, rather unnecessarily.

Hamid Saleh Haroun Al Tahan had a lithe frame, enhanced by the excellent cut of his suit, and the hand he held out for Zolf to shake was narrow and elegant with the nails buffed and cut neatly. Zolf felt very self-conscious of his own rather thick and callused fingers, topped with ragged nails. Al Tahan’s hand was dwarfed in his, and it was warm and smooth. Zolf looked up from their joined hands and in Al Tahan’s face, following the line of his aristocratic cheekbones, along his dark, angular brows, and into his brown, gold-flecked irises. His smile revealed white, even teeth.

Zolf realised belatedly that he was still shaking Al Tahan’s hand. He cleared his throat and dropped it, moving away to let Sasha come forward. Sasha didn’t move any closer, and Al Tahan simply bowed to her politely from a distance.

‘We’re so glad you came to visit us,’ Al Tahan said, his smile still wide and bright and surprisingly genuine. ‘Wilde has told us so much about you.’ 

‘I bet he has,’ Zolf harrumphed. Sasha fiddled with the dangling ribbons of her bonnet and said nothing.

There was a moment’s strained silence.

‘I’m sure Bertie will be here soon – he’ll be dreadfully upset that he missed your arrival,’ Mr Al Tahan added, his beaming smile still in place. ‘There’s no need to stand on ceremony while we wait – please, come sit down.’

‘Where is Sir MacGuffingham?’ Zolf asked, as he lowered himself gingerly into an antique spindly armchair. It creaked worryingly. 

‘Out hunting,’ Mr Al Tahan said with an airy wave of his hand. ‘He must have lost track of the time. I’m dreadfully sorry.’

Sasha had declined to sit, and had instead gone to inspect a nearby ornament. Mr Al Tahan’s eyes flickered over to watch her, his smile becoming a little wooden.

‘Miss Rackett has an… interest in antiques,’ Zolf explained. 

‘Ah, I see. A very unusual hobby for a young woman.’ 

Zolf frowned at him, but Mr Al Tahan didn’t look disdainful – in fact, he looked slightly impressed.

‘Oh, here,’ Zolf said, shoving the hastily assembled gift basket over onto Mr Al Tahan’s lap. 

The basket was heavy, and Mr Al Tahan, while attractive, was willowy where Zolf was broad. He was too polite to say anything and only let out a small huff of air as the basket no doubt knocked the wind of him.

‘A gift. Welcome to Herefordshire,’ Zolf said.

‘How lovely.’ Mr Al Tahan’s voice was faint, but to Zolf’s surprise his face lit up when he examined the contents of the basket. ‘Oh, how lovely!’ he said again, though the contrast in enthusiasm was clear. ‘I’ve been looking forward to trying the local delicacies.’

One of the many servants standing silent in the background swooped in to whisk the basket away, and there was silence once more. Mr Al Tahan coughed politely, and Sasha rolled her eyes at Zolf from behind him.

‘So, Wilde told us you own a mine nearby?’ Al Tahan asked, the pleasant but wooden smile back on his face.

‘A couple, actually,’ Zolf said. Surrounded by such wealth and extravagance, he felt an unusual impulse to show off.

‘How interesting!’ Mr Al Tahan leant forward slightly in his chair. Zolf was impressed at Mr Al Tahan’s effort towards looking genuinely interested.

‘Mines are pretty much the lifeblood of this part of the country,’ Zolf said, shrugging.

‘I’ve never been to a mine.’

‘They’re just dark tunnels,’ Zolf said, shrugging again. He’d forgotten how much he hated small talk.

‘The mines are quite exciting,’ Sasha added, apparently deciding to finally join in the stilted conversation. She leapt gracefully over the back of the unused sofa, dress and all, and ignored Zolf’s subsequent glare. ‘I’ve been in ‘em a couple of times. Zolf gave me the tour.’

‘How… nice of him,’ Mr Al Tahan said faintly, no doubt taken aback by Sasha’s sudden unladylike acrobatics.

‘I’m sure he’d like to give you a tour, if you wanted,’ Sasha continued, blithely ignoring Zolf’s growing glare.

‘That would be very interesting – of course, I wouldn’t want to get in the way,’ Mr Al Tahan said quickly, ever polite. 

‘They need checks, and building work, after the bad weather in the winter,’ Zolf said. He heaved a huge sigh, unable to fight Mr Al Tahan’s weaponised politeness and Sasha’s inexorable knack of getting him into trouble. ‘But if by the beginning of summer you still want a tour, we can arrange it.’

‘Wonderful!’ Mr Al Tahan clapped his hands together excitedly. He gestured to a nearby servant, and they seemed to understand the vague hand signal for they disappeared out of the room. 

‘I have an old acquaintance who lives nearby,’ Mr Al Tahan continued, even as Zolf and Sasha watched the sudden servant exodus in surprise. ‘He had business in mining, from what I can remember, I don’t suppose you know him? A Mr Langdon?’

The air went arctic – Zolf felt his hands curl into fists. His opinion of Mr Al Tahan dropped sharply.

‘Langdon’s mines are direct competition to the Smith mines,’ Zolf said, carefully controlling his voice so as not to give away his true feelings. 

‘I… see.’ Mr Al Tahan’s eyes were wide – he seemed to realise he had made a grave faux pas, for he gave a short, self-conscious laugh. ‘He and I went to college together when we were younger – I doubt he would even recognise me after all these years, especially out here in the country.’

Privately, Zolf thought that Mr Al Tahan looked far too young to be talking about when he was ‘younger’.

‘I don’t even know if he’s in the country, to be honest,’ Mr Al Tahan continued, desperately trying to salvage the conversation. ‘He always preferred the city, as I did.’

Curiosity stung at Zolf at this strange character, and against his better judgement he continued the conversation.

‘So what brings you to Herefordshire, Mr Al Tahan?’

‘Oh, you know,’ he answered, flapping a hand vaguely, clearly very happy at the change in topic. ‘Bertie was moving out here, and I was growing bored of London. So, I decided to come with him, for a change of scene, to keep him company, you know.’

Zolf wondered why he was lying. Mr Al Tahan was a good liar, but Zolf caught the tightening around his eyes and the tremor in his hands. There was something odd about Mr Al Tahan. Zolf found to his displeasure that it only made him more intriguing.

‘Wilde told us that you lived in London before coming here, Miss Rackett. How are you finding the countryside? Any tips for a fellow city-dweller about the places to be in Herefordshire?’

Sasha shrugged in a very unladylike fashion.

‘Walkin’ ‘snice,’ she said, her accent coming out thicker than usual, no doubt spurred on by the mention of London. ‘Lots of open spaces. Big fields. Not as many high places, but there are some trees near the house that you can climb up and you can see pretty far from ‘em.’

Zolf could barely contain his snort as Mr Al Tahan floundered around for a polite response.

‘Oh,’ he said, eventually. ‘I see.’

‘It’s nice, here,’ Sasha said. ‘Much more peaceful. Is your friend coming?’

‘I’m sure Bertie will be here soon,’ Mr Al Tahan said, looking one step away from wringing his hands but clearly much too well bred to actually do so. 

Sasha had already jumped back up from the sofa and was examining the side tables.

‘Hey, aren’t you reading this?’ she asked Zolf, brandishing a book. 

It was the latest treatise from François Henri, a famous philosopher and academic, and was exactly the same edition that Zolf was currently chewing through at home.

‘Yes,’ he said. 

‘Oh, you read Henri?’ Mr Al Tahan said, leaning forward again. The woodenness was fading from his smile. ‘What did you think about his recent thought experiment about mind, body, and personal identity?’

Zolf was startled into answering truthfully.

‘You mean _Mr Ceiling_? I thought it lost a little steam towards the middle and ended up confused and useless,’ he said.

‘Oh, really? Because I thought it was excellent.’

Zolf opened his mouth to argue, but at that moment the doors opened and the servants streamed in, all carrying various plates of fancy finger food. 

‘I thought we’d get started on lunch, rather than wait on Bertie,’ Mr Al Tahan said, as the fleet of servants orbited the sofas and chairs, setting down platters on the many side tables. 

‘If you’re sure he won’t mind?’ Zolf asked, unsure. The manor was MacGuffingham’s, not Al Tahan’s, and though he seemed quite at home enough to welcome them in and order the servants about, Mr Al Tahan was technically not the master of the house. Zolf wasn’t sure what a polite member of society was supposed to do in those circumstances. But then his stomach rumbled, and he remembered he wasn’t a polite member of any society, and that though Mr Al Tahan was a stranger he was still Wilde’s acquaintance. There had to be something strange and unusual about him. Wilde collected oddities, and Zolf knew both himself and Sasha to be prime examples of that. Mr Al Tahan must have something unusual hidden beneath that polite, well-bred veneer. 

Sasha, apparently not wrestling with her own inner thoughts about politeness in front of strangers, was already tucking in.

The silence was filled with eating for a time, though Zolf kept up a half-hearted discussion on Henri’s book. Mr Al Tahan seemed pleased to have discovered this common ground and assisted in keeping the ailing conversation alive. All in all, the whole visit was not nearly as awful as Zolf had anticipated, and he even enjoyed the food.

‘I’m so sorry Bertie couldn’t make it,’ Mr Al Tahan said, once they’d eaten and the plates were being cleared away. ‘He must have lost track of the time. We’ll have to invite you over again, maybe for?’

‘It’s no worry,’ Zolf said hurriedly, but Mr Al Tahan’s eyes were already alight with possibilities.

‘Maybe a ball! There’s all this space, of course, and I’m sure it’s been a while since the Hall was opened up to the neighbours.’

Zolf could see Sasha cringing in his peripheral vision, but he was weak in front of Mr Al Tahan’s enthusiasm.

‘I’m sure that would go down very well with the town,’ Zolf said honestly. ‘The only common ball we go to round here is the summer solstice ball in the town hall.’

‘Wonderful!’

A loud crash from the atrium caught all of their attention – it was the sound of the front doors banging open. Stomping feet followed, and a loud booming voice called out to the house.

‘Hamid? You there?’

‘Ah,’ Mr Al Tahan said, with a nervous smile, ‘Bertie must be back.’

‘Have you got rid of Wilde’s country bumpkins yet?’ the voice roared. Zolf immediately decided he hated it. 

‘Oh dear,’ Mr Al Tahan said, very quietly. 

The door to the sitting room burst open and a large man eclipsed the doorway, a brace of birds slung over his shoulder and a hunting rifle against the other.

‘Ah. Hello,’ Sir MacGuffingham said, looking not one bit repentant.

‘You’ve missed lunch.’ Mr Al Tahan’s tone was arctic. 

MacGuffingham harrumphed.

‘Unfortunately, we best be off,’ Zolf said, unable to take the awkwardness any longer. He stood and brushed the crumbs off his best trousers. ‘We have business in the town, and we need to get back before dark.’

‘Oh, really?’ Mr Al Tahan stood too. 

‘Thank you for lunch,’ Zolf said, trying to smile. It was only Mr Al Tahan’s fault for having such an awful friend, but Zolf had a feeling that Al Tahan wasn’t just in Herefordshire to keep his friend company.

Zolf hustled Sasha out of the room and out into the gloomy spring day. A light drizzle had started, and the clouds were dark and oppressive.

‘That was fun,’ Sasha said, as they climbed hurriedly into their carriage. Zolf was surprised to see she wasn’t lying; her eyes were bright and she was grinning.

‘It was uncomfortable,’ Zolf pointed out.

‘Yeah, but it was interesting,’ Sasha argued. ‘I thought they’d be all hoity toity. But Mr Al Tahan seems nice. Even if his friend is awful. And it was pretty funny.’

Zolf sighed, but couldn’t disagree.

‘D’you think they will have a ball?’ Sasha asked, sticking her head out of the window to watch as MacGuffingham Hall faded into the distance, obscured by the misty rain.

‘Who knows.’

‘It might be fun,’ Sasha said, ponderously. ‘I could sneak off and see what stuff they have upstairs.’ 

Zolf didn’t even try to protest. He knew that if he forbade her, Sasha would just do it anyway, and he’d rather know where she was than have her vanish without him seeing. She was all too good at disappearing into the shadows, and at a busy party it would be even harder to keep track of her.

‘If you want,’ he said. ‘Just don’t get caught.’

Sasha rolled her eyes at him.

‘As if they could catch me.’

Zolf just turned to stare out of the window at the miserable weather, and thought more about Mr Al Tahan. He debated whether or not to share his insights about Mr Al Tahan to Sasha, but decided to keep them to himself for now. He could be wrong, of course, spooking at shadows where there were none. But there had been something about Al Tahan – a jittery nervousness plastered over with politeness and charm. 

*

The invite to a Spring Ball at MacGuffingham Hall came only a week later. The fancy embossed card had arrived at the same time as the morning paper, and Mr Cardy had tucked it inside the pages. When Zolf opened the paper at breakfast, the invitation fell out and landed in his porridge.

‘That was fast,’ Sasha commented, watching as Zolf picked it out of his bowl and wiped away the worst of the mess.

‘Hmm,’ Zolf said, scanning it over. It was a standard invitation – time, date, place, dress code. On the back, written more organically in a curling, elegant hand, was a postscript from Mr Al Tahan.

‘What does it say?’ Sasha asked, trying to crane over to read it too. Zolf angled it away.

‘Just Mr Al Tahan apologising for the dismal reception at lunch the other week. He hopes that we come to the ball so Sir MacGuffingham can repair his good name.’

Sasha snorted.

‘I don’t know if that’s possible.’

‘Hmm,’ Zolf said again.

‘We are gonna go, though, right?’ Sasha asked.

‘I thought you hated balls and dances,’ Zolf teased. 

‘Well, yeah,’ Sasha said, grinning wickedly, ‘but I’m not plannin’ on doin’ much dancin’.’

‘You will have to wear a dress,’ Zolf pointed out. Sasha just shrugged and sipped delicately on her tea.

Later, alone in his study, Zolf re-read the rest of Mr Al Tahan’s message on the back of the invitation – the part he had declined to tell Sasha about. 

_P.S. Mr Smith –_

_It was delightful to discuss Henri’s latest work with you over lunch – I so rarely find anyone with similar interests to my own who is also both willing and able to debate such topics. I was intrigued to hear your opinion of Henri’s thought experiment, and would like to discuss this more in future, if you would be so kind as to explain why you thought it lacking?_

_I look forward to your response._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Hamid Saleh Haroun Al Tahan_

Zolf quickly wrote a response that due to his responsibilities regarding the Smith mines he had little time to talk philosophy. He paused, then, chewing the end of his quill. He did want to get to know Mr Al Tahan, if only to uncover his mystery. So Zolf wrote instead that he would be happy to continue their discussions over letters.

_In regard to Henri’s thought experiment, I hardly thought it deserving of the name_ he wrote. _It started off as an interesting idea – that is hard to argue against – but devolved into a bloated mess that lacked any clear solution or indeed, that anything had been gained from the posing of the thought experiment in the process. By destroying such a creature as the one he described – one containing thousands of brains of varying levels of consciousness left from their previous lives – it ruins the system the creature was created to manage, as described by Henri himself. This destruction would cause countless harm to those still living in the world – surely that outweighs the good of saving those who had their memories modified? The release of those brains into death? If we follow the utilitarian view, more harm than happiness would be caused by the destruction of Mr Ceiling._

He sent his response that day and received a reply only a day later.

_Dear Mr Smith,_

_I find it hard to believe we read the same book! Regardless of the utilitarian view, I feel as though Henri makes it very clear that destroying Mr Ceiling is the only valid moral action to take, regardless of following harm. The harm that would have come from Mr Ceiling’s projected course of taking over the world would far outweigh the harm after its immediate destruction, and the happiness that followed would be far greater than the happiness of a world living under Mr Ceiling’s control._

_Rather than being bloated, I thought that the intricate nature of the thought experiment only serves to highlight just how thorny most moral problems can be – all capable of causing both harm and good – and that weighing it out in the utilitarian style can change when there should be a moral imperative to stop something so obviously wrong as Mr Ceiling. Even without the world domination, Mr Ceiling is described to have murdered people – not physically, perhaps, but by erasing everything that made them who they were and leaving them a puppeted husk – and that is always morally wrong, regardless of any good done by its workings._

_I hope I have gone some way to convince you – I do feel Henri gets harshly judged by his contemporaries, especially by Edison, and deserves a closer reading to truly understand his view._

_Philosophical talk aside, how are you and Miss Rackett faring? How are your mine repairs going? I was glad to see your RSVP regarding the Spring Ball – I am so glad that you are willing to forgive Sir MacGuffingham his awful behaviour at our first meeting. Bertie is something of an acquired taste, and he was abominably rude to you, but he does generally mean well. I look forward to seeing the two of you then._

_Yours,_

_Hamid Saleh Haroun Al Tahan_

He signed off the letter with another postscript; ‘call me Hamid.’

*

Spring was busy, as Zolf had expected – the constant safety checks and reinforcing of the mines was a slow, tedious process, and a solid week of rain before Easter ruined much of the progress. But there was progress, slow and steady, and there were no casualties. There was news from the local mines run by Langdon that suggested that they were much further ahead than the Smith mines, and working at full capacity. Zolf ignored it, for the most part – he refused to risk the lives of his miners for quick profit, and he knew that Wilde, the main shareholder in the company, would agree with him.

Together with general jobs for the house and the mines, Zolf barely had enough time to eat and sleep. But every week, without fail, he would write a letter to Mr Al Tahan – to Hamid – to discuss their latest book of choice. They didn’t always agree – in fact, they very rarely agreed, and their debates were no less fierce for being on paper – but Zolf found that sitting down and writing his weekly letter soon became his favourite pastime.

_Dear Hamid,_

_I understand your point about the overall good of destroying Mr Ceiling, and it outweighing – eventually – the overall happiness from leaving Mr Ceiling be. However, I must point out that you speak of it being almost a moral imperative to not destroy Mr Ceiling, completely morally wrong. But is it not also completely morally wrong to destroy Mr Ceiling? It is made from the still-living brains of thousands of people, and they still have some memories and free will, as can be seen in the character of Brock. Destroying Mr Ceiling will also kill these people, and murder – even murder for the greater good – is also considered morally wrong._

_I can already see your counter-argument, as though you were here in my study, so I will attempt to cut you off at the pass. Surely these people are already dead? Surely once their brains were removed, they became part of Mr Ceiling and therefore were no longer themselves? They would have no life outside the machine, of course, and so would not live on separate from the main entity. Yet I would argue that they are just as much ‘alive’ as you or I, as Rose argues. She writes that your personal identity consists of your memories and past experiences, and these brains still have these – as demonstrated by Brock. So even ignoring the collapse of society that would inevitably result from Mr Ceiling’s death, it would count as killing thousands of living brains directly._

_Miss Rackett and I are well. The mine repairs continue apace. They will never be as safe as I would wish, but I aim to make them as safe to work in as humanly possible. It is expensive work, and slow, but it is worth it._

_How is your life in the country so far? Is it so different from your life in London? We are looking forward to your Spring Ball, and hopefully we can continue our discussions there in person._

_Zolf_

*

Sasha was not unobservant, and soon she began gently making fun of Zolf’s sudden writing habit. Once she had snuck into his office to read the letters, and afterwards she would tease Zolf about his new friendship.

‘Is that from _Hamid_?’ she would ask, every breakfast, when a letter arrived in the post.

Zolf had stopped responding, refusing to give her the satisfaction.

_Dear Zolf,_

_You are correct – and you have the best of me, as I have yet to read Amélie Rose’s contribution to this debate. And you are right once again with my counter-argument, though I do have another point against you._

_You argue that the brains have their memories of past experience, as shown in Brock, and some measure of free will. Yet Brock uses his free will directly in opposition to Mr Ceiling, even when doing so means his own demise. In this way we can consider the brains in Mr Ceiling more akin to hostages who cannot be saved, but merely released from their suffering, much as one who is fatally wounded._

_Also, in regard to the self being personal experience and memory of that experience, then Mr Ceiling has killed his creator, and would go on to kill many more with the memory modification. This would then lead us back to the utilitarian argument from our earlier letters, which would highlight that destroying Mr Ceiling would be the best way to ensure greatest overall happiness in the long run._

_I am glad to hear that you and Miss Rackett remain well. I am extremely interested in your mines – once you deem it safe, I would love to take you up on the offered tour. Country life is suiting me surprisingly well, though it is definitely very different to London. I can relax in the evening without constant callers and parties, and the birdsong in the morning enables me to wake earlier than I would normally. I have taken a few walks over the MacGuffingham estate and am slowly learning how to get my bearings in a place devoid of road names. Where I grew up, in Cairo, the flora and fauna are markedly different to this delightful countryside, and I have recently taken up the habit of bird-spotting._

_It would be my pleasure to talk more on our philosophies at the Spring Ball, though I would also like to enjoy the music and dancing too, if you are amenable._

_Yours,_

_Hamid_

*

As the weather grew warmer and milder, it was soon time for the celebration of Spring at the local temple. The morning of the celebration dawned clear, fresh, and mild, and Sasha was surprisingly cheery even as she fiddled with her hated bonnet. She had begrudgingly worn a dress, though most of the town were used to seeing her trekking across the fields in her usual clothes. Zolf had capitulated into letting her wear trousers and walking boots beneath the long skirt. 

‘Do you think Mr Al Tahan will be there?’ she asked, grinning cheekily, as Zolf brushed the lint from his best coat.

‘Perhaps,’ he said, shrugging.

‘I wonder if MacGuffingham will go,’ Sasha pondered, fiddling with her ribbons. 

‘I doubt he’s a religious man.’ Zolf shrugged into his jacket and gave himself a perfunctory once-over in his large mirror. His clothes were dark, though that hid the darning and the patches, and he looked a little dour but perfectly presentable. He had brushed his beard and tidied his moustache that morning and was annoyed to feel butterflies in his stomach.

‘You look nice,’ Sasha said, winking. Zolf ignored her. 

They walked to the local temple – the weather was nice, and Zolf didn’t think his stomach could stand another carriage journey with Sasha at the helm. In the way, he nodded to the locals, many of whom were his employees and their families, people he’d known since he was young. They greeted him and Sasha with friendly smiles, though Sasha was overcome with shyness and hid under her bonnet. 

‘Zolf!’ cried a familiar voice, when they reached the town proper, and Zolf looked up to see Barnes springing towards him. 

‘Good to see you,’ Zolf said, shaking his outstretched hands. ‘You’ve met Miss Rackett.’

Sasha mumbled something indistinct from under her bonnet.

‘Of course, lovely to see you.’

‘How long are you in town?’ Zolf asked. ‘I thought you were still on commission.’

‘I am, I am, just came back to see the family. I also heard that Ed moved on to London, and we’ve got a new priest in town.’

‘Oh, really?’ Zolf had liked their previous priest well enough – Ed had been young, and while he wasn’t the brightest button in the box, he was enthusiastic and cared about his flock. ‘Who’s the newcomer?’

‘I don’t know – thought I’d go to the spring celebration to see,’ Barnes said. ‘I’ve heard she’s wonderful – a real breath of fresh air.’

Settled in his pew, Zolf couldn’t stop himself from craning his neck to see if he could spot Mr Al Tahan and Sir MacGuffingham, but they were nowhere to be seen.

The new priest looked young and fresh-faced, though she was taller than most of the congregation. She wore the pink robes of the church of Aphrodite, and the colour matched her warm smile. Her sermon was full of the joy of spring, of new life and love, of kindness and healing and friendship with your neighbour. She introduced herself as Azu.

‘Makes a bit of a change from the quests and adventures for Apollo’s glory,’ Zolf whispered to Sasha, mid-way through the celebration. Sasha, however, was uncharacteristically enthralled – usually she got bored during services, and the few occasions she and Zolf were obliged to go she often would slink off during the more distracting parts of the service, when the rest of the congregation got up to bring their offerings to the altar. The temple was a multi-faith affair – the town was too small to have temples dedicated to particular deities, and instead had a one size fits all, with the décor matching the alignment of the current priest. Gone were the paintings of mighty deeds and sun drawings done by kids from the local school – instead, garlands of roses and other pink and red flowers Zolf didn’t know the name of were strung across the room – between the pews, across the ceiling, over the windows. A small statue of Aphrodite took centre stage in the middle of the altar, and soon she was surrounded by the wealth of spring, offerings from the locals – eggs, fresh-cut flowers, lambswool, and early fruit. 

After the service, Zolf went up to greet the new priest, as was expected of a man who employed almost half the population of the town. Sasha skulked along behind him with her bonnet pulled down over her face.

As they approached, however, Zolf was surprised to see that Hamid was already there, deep in conversation with Azu. Hamid caught sight of them as they got nearer, and his face lit up in happiness.

‘Mr Smith! Miss Rackett!’ he cried, smiling widely at them. ‘It’s good to see you.’

Azu turned to smile at them too. Underneath her bonnet, Sasha’s face went pink as the roses on the wall.

‘I’ve heard of you, Mr Smith,’ Azu said, shaking Zolf’s hand. ‘Your employees think very highly of you.’

‘It was a good service,’ Zolf said, unused to such blatant praise. ‘I didn’t see you arrive, Mr Al Tahan?’

‘Oh, I was a bit late,’ Hamid said, with a self-conscious little chuckle. ‘I didn’t realise Bertie was busy, you see, so I waited for him and made myself late.’ 

Zolf found himself disliking `Bertie’ more and more.

‘We were just discussing Cairo,’ Azu said, excitedly. ‘Mr Al Tahan’s family lives there, you see, and it was so nice to talk to someone in Arabic. It’s lovely here, but I’ve been a little homesick, moving to a strange place where I don’t know anyone.’

‘Well, you must come to the Spring Ball!’ Hamid exclaimed. ‘My friend is hosting it at his Hall, where I’m staying. You could meet more of your congregation, get to know people. Mr Smith and Miss Rackett have also been invited.’

‘We’re going,’ Sasha blurted out, before retreating into her bonnet once more. Zolf was pretty sure you could cook an egg on her red face.

‘Delightful!’ Hamid said, clapping his hands together. ‘Well then, Azu, you simply must come!’

‘It does sound lovely,’ the priest admitted. ‘And it would be nice to get to know everyone outside of the temple.’

‘That’s settled, then. Good day Azu, Miss Rackett. Mr Smith.’ Hamid tipped his hat, and then hurried away.

There was a moment’s awkward silence.

‘So, you are originally from Cairo?’ Zolf asked.

‘Well, I am originally from Kenya, but I trained as a priest in the temple of Aphrodite in Cairo, yes,’ Azu said, beaming. ‘It’s so wonderful to be here in Herefordshire – it’s so different to Kenya and Cairo.’

‘I can imagine.’ Zolf coughed. He looked around to see a few of the congregation hovering in the sidelines, waiting for a chance to talk to the new priest. ‘We mustn’t keep you from your parishioners any longer - Miss Rackett and I will look forward to seeing you at MacGuffingham Hall.’

‘As will I,’ Azu said. ‘Goodbye, Mr Smith, Miss Rackett.’

Sasha said nothing, but a small squeak came out from under her bonnet.

Zolf teased her on their way back to the manor.

‘I don’t like talking to new people,’ Sasha huffed, ripping off her bonnet as they rounded the corner of the country lane and were out of sight of the town. 

‘So you don’t like Azu?’ Zolf asked.

‘You seemed very cordial with _Hamid_ ,’ Sasha shot back, nudging Zolf’s arm. Zolf gasped.

‘Have you been reading my letters?’

‘You left them out!’

‘I left them in my desk drawer in my study – they were _not_ out.’

‘Well, you didn’t lock the drawer,’ Sasha pointed out. ‘Or your study.’

Zolf opened his mouth to argue, then sighed.

‘He’s an interesting conversationalist. In his letters,’ Zolf admitted. They walked on in silence for a time, listening to the noisy birds in the thick hedgerows. The path was rough – after a very wet winter of being heavily churned by horseshoes and wheels of carts and carriages, the spring sun had set the mud into large peaks and troughs. Sasha skipped easily over it all in her walking boots, while Zolf stumbled a few times when his prosthetic caught on an edge.

‘He seems very nice,’ Sasha said, apologetically. ‘I just don’t understand why he’s friends with that awful MacGuffingham man.’

‘And he was friends with Langdon, or he was,’ Zolf said darkly.

‘Maybe he’s nice but is really bad at judging people’s character?’ Sasha offered.

‘Hmm.’ Zolf just squinted into the spring sun. It all just furthered the mystery of Mr Al Tahan, and Zolf hated that it intrigued him so. 

*

Two days later, and Zolf was taking a rare day away from the mines in order to look through the accounts. He was in his study, carefully calculating the expected losses from the bad winter and the continual costs of repair, when he heard the doorbell ring. Sasha was out walking, as the weather was dreary and she loved the mists and rain, but it was mid-afternoon and much too early for her to be back – not to mention, she always used the back door to avoid both dripping mud over the hall and Mrs Cardy’s gimlet eye.

He looked up for a moment but heard the familiar sounds of Mrs Cardy’s footsteps hurrying over to open the door, and so Zolf turned back to the accounts. Then he heard the shriek. 

Zolf was out the door and along the corridor as fast as his prosthetic would allow. There was shouting, now, and Mr Cardy’s voice was reverberating around the stairwell.

‘What’s the meaning of this!’ Mr Cardy shouted as Zolf picked up the pace.

He saw the cause of the commotion as he reached the landing and looked down into the hall, and his heart stopped in panic.

The front door to the manor was wide open, letting the rain lash in. Mrs Cardy was still shrieking at the door, even as Hamid tried to calm her down. Mr Cardy was holding her arm and standing between her and Hamid.

‘This is urgent! Where’s Mr Smith?’ Hamid was asking, his voice firm. Hamid was standing in the hall, dripping wet and – to Zolf’s confusion – clutching a wickedly curved sword, which was no doubt what set poor Mrs Cardy off. 

Hamid looked up, no doubt alerted to Zolf’s presence by the sound of his heavy prosthetic on the wooden floors. Their eyes met, and Zolf could see the open panic and worry in Hamid’s face.

‘What’s the meaning of this?’ Zolf yelled, even as he struggled to hurry down the main staircase. ‘You need to put that away right now!’

Hamid frowned down at the sword in his hand as though confused to see it.

‘Oh,’ he said, sheathing the sword with surprising skill. ‘My apologies, I… look, Mr Smith, you need to come quickly. Miss Rackett-‘

‘Sasha? What happened to Sasha?’ Zolf’s heart stopped in his chest. 

‘We took her to MacGuffingham Hall, since it was close, and Bertie’s sent off for Azu,’ Hamid said, all in one breath. ‘We-‘

‘Right,’ Zolf said, ‘you got here by horse?’

Hamid floundered for a second, momentarily thrown by the change of subject.

‘Uh, yes,’ he managed.

‘Come with me – you can explain on the way,’ Zolf said, and he started off towards the stables as fast as his prosthetic would allow. Hamid got over his surprise fast enough to catch up, and on the way he breathlessly explained himself.

‘Bertie and I were out hunting, and we came across bandits near the edge of the MacGuffingham estate. I’m not sure how – she must have been nearby – but Sasha got involved, and she got gravely injured. We managed to fight the bandits off and take her to safety, and I came as fast as I could to tell you.’

‘You’re lucky I wasn’t at the mines today,’ Zolf said, slamming out of the kitchen door and out into the stable yard. He didn’t bother taking the time to tack up – before his leg, he rode bareback all the time over the Manor’s estate, but since then he had tried once and found it took much more balance and effort than it had before. He knew he would ache tomorrow, but for now the only thought in his mind was to get to Sasha. In his mind, horrible scenes were appearing – Sasha, lying broken and still on a gilt-framed bed, alone and injured. 

At some point while Zolf had been leading his horse out of the stable into the drizzle Hamid had gone to fetch his own. Zolf swung himself up and held on for dear life as he urged the horse into a gallop, and Hamid drew up alongside.

They rode in silence, Zolf focusing hard on both staying on and going as fast as physically possible. Hamid kept up easily, and they made good time getting to MacGuffingham Hall. Zolf still felt like it took an eternity – all the thoughts of Sasha were going around and around in his mind, each scenario worse and worse. When they finally reached the huge Hall the front doors were already open. Zolf’s thighs trembled from the strain of the ride and he almost collapsed when he dismounted too heavily, falling to his good knee and jarring it painfully. He forced himself up before Hamid could attempt to offer help, and he limped furiously towards the open doors.

‘Ah, sir-‘ the butler began, moving towards Zolf as though to intercept him. Zolf ignored him and pushed on through the front doors and into the Hall proper.

‘It’s alright, let him through,’ Hamid called from behind.

Zolf reached the base of the huge central staircase and faltered, realising he had no idea where Sasha was. He turned to find Hamid but Hamid was already beside him.

‘She’s this way,’ he said kindly, and started up the stairs.

It took Zolf a little longer than Hamid to get to the top, and though Hamid watched him carefully the whole way, he didn’t offer to help. Zolf was pathetically grateful – it was one thing when Sasha helped him, and another when it was an acquaintance he barely knew. He had his pride, whether that was a good thing or not.

‘She’s in the best guest room,’ Hamid said, showing Zolf down a corridor lined with gilt-framed portraits. Zolf hobbled after him. The guest bedroom door wasn’t far along, and when Hamid knocked on it a maid answered.

‘Mr Smith, to see his ward,’ Hamid said, somewhat imperiously, and the maid opened the door full and stepped aside. Hamid turned to Zolf. ‘Give her my best,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait for Bertie and the priest.’ 

Zolf muttered a thank you even as he hurried through the door. The guest room was huge and lavishly decorated. There were a few maids inside, most of them shooting him unhappy looks, but he only had eyes for Sasha. She looked so small and fragile, nestled in the centre of a huge poster bed, though she was half sitting up and wore a mutinous expression. Her face and hair were wet and her normal walking clothes were gone – in their place was a floaty white nightgown that washed out her already pale skin and made her look young and consumptive.

‘Sasha!’ Zolf said, his voice cracking in relief. ‘You’re alright.’

‘Zolf!’ She called back, furious. 

‘What happened? Are you alright?’

Zolf hurried over to her bedside and began checking her over, using his rusty knowledge left over from his Navy training. She put up with it for barely a few seconds before she turned to him, outraged. 

‘I would have been fine if it wasn’t for that idiot!’ she shouted. A few of the maids tutted, but Sasha ignored them.

‘Leave us,’ Zolf snapped at them, and they filed out silently. Zolf knew he hadn’t made any friends, but he didn’t care. ‘What happened?’ he asked again. ‘Ha… Mr Al Tahan gave me the basics, but he didn’t know exactly how you got hurt.’

‘Because it was his idiot friend,’ Sasha huffed. ‘He _fell_ on me!’

‘He what? Why were you even near the bandits in the first place?’

‘I was out walking, like usual and I heard ‘em fighting,’ Sasha said, ‘so I went to ‘ave a butcher’s. No one saw me,’ she said, rolling her eyes at the look on Zolf’s face, ‘you know nobody sees me if I don’t want ‘em to.’

Zolf did know. So, from an unfortunate incident, did poor Mr and Mrs Cardy.

‘Then how did you get hurt?’ Zolf asked.

‘There was a guy sneaking up on Mr Al Tahan,’ Sasha said, sniffing. ‘I had to go ‘elp.’

Zolf sighed. 

‘MacGuffingham must have seen him too, though, cos as I was stabbing ‘im there was this loud noise, and then MacGuffingham was jumping at us and he knocked us over and landed on me. I must’ve been knocked out, cos when I opened my eyes again the bandits were all gone and I was lying face down in the mud. He fell on me!’ Sasha sounded so annoyed and disgusted that it made Zolf chuckle despite his worry. Sasha couldn’t be hurt too badly if she could work herself up to that much annoyance.

‘How did you get here?’ Zolf asked.

‘MacGuffingham carried me back, I think, but I think I blacked out again, and then they washed my face and dressed me in this.’ Sasha plucked at the nightgown unhappily.

‘How are you feeling?’

Sasha wrinkled her nose.

‘Fine, I think,’ she said. ‘My chest is a bit sore, and breathing hurts a bit, but I’ve ‘ad worse.’

Zolf ignored the last comment – thinking about Sasha’s sad and chequered past just made him angry. 

‘They’ve sent for Azu,’ he said, trying to be comforting. ‘I’m sure you’ll be well enough to come home soon.’

Sasha’s face went from ash pale to blinding red.

‘The priest?’ she whispered.

‘Yes.’ Zolf grinned, and fluffed up Sasha’s pillows in an attempt to feel useful.

Sasha sunk into the covers of the bed until only her eyes and her shock of short hair were visible.

‘I feel much better now,’ she said, in a small voice. ‘Can we go home?’

‘Azu’s lovely,’ Zolf said, firmly. ‘And you really do need to be looked over. I need to send for the carriage, anyway – I only brought my horse.’

‘You’ve already looked me over,’ Sasha grumbled. Then, quieter; ‘I’m wearing a _nightgown_.’

‘And it’s lacy,’ Zolf grinned. Sasha groaned.

‘Please?’

Zolf sighed.

‘I’m sure she won’t care what you’re wearing,’ he said. ‘Besides, she’s already been sent for. We don’t want to waste her time.’

Sasha just grumbled again.

Not ten minutes later, a gentle knock on the door revealed Azu, her pink robes damp from the rain but her smile no less bright for it.

‘I’ll leave her to your ministrations,’ Zolf said, getting up to leave even as Sasha pinched his hand quite hard in payment for his betrayal.

Hamid was waiting outside Sasha’s room, talking quietly to a man Zolf didn’t recognise. He was small and lithe, with sharply pointed features and bright eyes. As he spoke, his lips revealed sharp white incisors. His clothes were sensible enough, though he was bristling with weapons.

‘Ah, Zolf,’ Hamid said, looking up as Zolf gently closed the bedroom door behind him. The other man squinted at Zolf – Zolf felt uncomfortably like he was being sized up. ‘This is-‘

‘Grizzop drik acht Amsterdam,’ the man said, sticking out a hand sharply. Zolf shook it, confused.

‘Mr Grizzop is something of a master of the hunt, here,’ Hamid explained haltingly. ‘Bertie does love his hunts!’

‘I see.’ Zolf was confused as to why MacGuffingham needed a master of the hunt, when he seemed to go off hunting by himself most of the time. Not to mention the sheer sense of danger that emanated from Grizzop drik acht Amsterdam’s body – Zolf had been in the Navy long enough to be able to recognise a born fighter when he met one.

‘I have duties to attend to,’ Grizzop said, eyes flicking between Zolf and Hamid. ‘My best wishes to your ward,’ he said.

Zolf watched Grizzop prowl away and jumped when Hamid placed a gentle hand on his arm. Hamid led quietly down the corridor to a small smoking room.

‘I thought you’d want to wait until Azu’s looked her over, so you know the prognosis,’ Hamid said, gently but firmly leading Zolf to a chair and handing him a glass of whiskey. Zolf swirled the amber liquid around in the glass, watching as Hamid poured himself a drink.

‘She said MacGuffingham fell on her,’ Zolf said. Hamid winced.

‘Yes,’ he said, sitting in the chair beside Zolf’s with a heavy sigh. ‘I didn’t see what happened at the time – I was caught up in the fight. I didn’t even know she was _there_ until I saw…’

‘Yes, she told me,’ Zolf said. ‘You should really work on your situational awareness.’

‘Yes,’ Hamid said, flushing red around his ears. ‘Well, Bertie says he saw the bandit accosting Miss Rackett, and he jumped in to rescue her. He only told me the truth once we’d got her back here. Mr Smith – Zolf…’ Hamid leant across the gap between their chairs, his expression horribly earnest. His hand rested on the arm of Zolf’s chair. ‘Zolf, if I had known she was in danger, I would have-‘

‘It’s not your fault,’ Zolf said, tiredly. He sipped at the whisky. It was really very good. The soft burn of it down his throat went some way towards calming him.

Hamid seemed to realise that Zolf wasn’t in the mood for conversation – they sat there in silence, drinking, until a soft knock on the door announced a servant’s arrival.

‘Ah. Right. I asked to be notified when Azu was done,’ Hamid explained to Zolf, as he put down his tumbler and stood. Zolf did the same, though he could barely contain his wince as his sore thighs ached when he put his weight on them. Above the prosthetic, the stump where his leg ended was burning with a pain he had managed to ignore while sitting.

Without a word, Hamid had walked to a corner of the room and pulled a polished wooden cane from a stand bristling with sticks and umbrellas. He said nothing as he passed it to Zolf, and Zolf was pathetically grateful.

It wasn’t a long walk down the corridor to where Azu stood, just outside of the guest bedroom. Azu looked tired, her brow furrowed, though her face lightened as she saw Zolf and Hamid approach.

‘She’ll be fine,’ Azu said quickly, just as Zolf opened his mouth. ‘She has bad bruising and a couple of cracked ribs, but nothing that bedrest won’t fix.’

Zolf nodded – his perfunctory examination had suggested the same. 

‘It would be best if she was kept where she is for the meantime,’ Azu continued, shooting a meaningful look at Hamid. ‘Too much movement too soon will cause her unnecessary pain and could lengthen the healing process.’

Zolf sighed – he’d been expecting something along those lines, though he’d been hoping for Sasha’s sake that it wouldn’t be necessary. He turned to Hamid.

‘I’d be very grateful if we could prevail upon your hospitality until Miss Rackett can be safely transported home,’ he began, but Hamid was already nodding.

‘Of course, of course,’ he said. ‘It’s because of us that she’s in this state, after all.’

‘Does Sir MacGuffingham have to be… informed?’ Azu asked delicately.

‘It’s the least we can do,’ Hamid continued. ‘Miss Rackett is welcome here for as long as she needs. I’ll let Bertie know, but he’ll agree.’

Zolf and Azu shared a look. Hamid was ostensibly a guest at MacGuffingham Hall, though it appeared he had more power over Sir MacGuffingham and his estate than a normal guest.

‘That would be very kind of you,’ Zolf said.

‘Of course, you must stay too, Mr Smith,’ Hamid continued blithely. ‘Obviously you need to go home to collect Miss Rackett’s things, since she will be here a while and I doubt she’ll want to wear Bertie’s mother’s old clothes, and you can bring some for yourself as well.’

‘I… are you sure?’ Zolf asked. He’d been hoping that Sir MacGuffingham – or Hamid, who seemed to actually be in charge – would let him visit often, perhaps even once a day. But to stay with Sasha – that was beyond what he could have hoped for.

‘That is very kind of you,’ Azu said, looking impressed. ‘You are lucky to have such good friends, Mr Smith.’

‘Yes,’ Zolf said, taken aback. ‘Yes, I… am.’

‘Well, that’s all settled,’ Hamid said, clapping his hands together authoritatively. ‘Azu, I’ll arrange for the carriage to take you back to town – it’s raining too hard for you to walk and we’re the ones who dragged you out here. Mr Smith, if you don’t mind the detour, I’ll let the driver know to take you to the manor to collect yours and Miss Rackett’s luggage and bring you back here after.’

Zolf’s first instinct was to bristle at the coddling and argue that he had a perfectly good horse and didn’t mind a little rain. But his legs were sore from the frantic ride to the Hall, and he knew that it would be quicker and easier to take the offer rather than aggravate his legs more by riding home and then getting Mr Cardy to dig out his own carriage. 

‘My horse…’ he said, just to put up a token protest.

‘I’ve already had the groom stable her here for now,’ Hamid said. ‘Don’t worry, she’ll be well looked after while you’re here.’

Her and me both, Zolf thought. He was grateful to Hamid for framing the kindness of lending him the carriage as an inconvenience for Zolf – having to ride into town to drop off Azu was hardly an issue, but describing it as such helped soothe Zolf’s ruffled pride.

Still, Zolf was embarrassed that Hamid clearly knew enough about his prideful ways to do so.

‘Do you want to see Miss Rackett again, before you go?’ Azu asked. ‘She was awake when I left.’

‘Yes,’ Zolf said, clearing his throat. ‘Yes, I – I won’t be long.’

‘We’ll wait for you in the atrium,’ Hamid said. ‘Come, Azu.’

As they walked away, talking quietly to one another in Arabic, Zolf took a deep breath and pushed open the bedroom door. Sasha was still small and fragile in the centre of the huge bed, but her cheeks had more colour and she looked much less delicate.

‘Was it as bad as you were expecting?’ Zolf teased even as she glared at him.

‘Thanks for nothing,’ she scowled. ‘See if I help you out in the future with Mr Al Tahan.’

Zolf just chuckled and hobbled over to sit at her bedside.

‘The bad news is, you can’t go home for a while. But,’ he said hurriedly, as Sasha’s mouth opened to argue, ‘Mr Al Tahan has very kindly said we can both stay here until you are well enough to travel.’

Sasha subsided somewhat. 

‘That’s nice of him,’ she grumbled, as though she wished he was exceedingly unkind and had kicked them out instead.

‘I’m going back to get some of our stuff,’ Zolf said, ‘is there anything you want in particular?’

Sasha thought for a moment.

‘Just my normal clothes,’ she said, shrugging, then wincing in pain. ‘If I’m staying here for a while, then they’re going to have to get used to me in my proper clothes.’

‘That’s fair enough,’ Zolf said. ‘Sir MacGuffingham owes you, anyway, since this is partly his fault.’

‘It’s all his fault,’ Sasha argued.

‘He didn’t force you to get involved in the fight,’ Zolf pointed out.

‘Yeah, but I wouldn’t’ve got hurt if it wasn’t for ‘im,’ Sasha sulked.

‘Regardless, we’re their guests. I won’t ask you to dress ladylike, but we should at least be grateful,’ Zolf admonished. Sasha rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

‘Right,’ Zolf said, heaving himself up and gingerly putting weight on his prosthetic. The whisky had helped a little with the pain, but he was looking forward to sitting down properly later. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

‘Hurry back,’ Sasha said, faintly. Zolf looked back, and his heart wrenched at the sight of her so small in the huge bed. He knew she hated pity, so he put on a positive face and smiled before heading down to the atrium.

*  
The first night at MacGuffingam Hall was calm. Hamid and Sir MacGuffingham left them to their own devices, and Hamid sent them both food up. They had a picnic tea in Sasha’s room and played cards until Sasha’s eyelids drooped, at which point Zolf left her to sleep and hobbled to the guest room where the servants had put his things. Tired from the bareback riding and constant pain in his leg, not to mention the panic and worry over Sasha, he had barely time to take off his boots and his prosthetic before collapsing onto the very comfortable bed and passing out.

He woke early – rising at dawn had been drilled into him from the Navy, and it was a habit he had never been able to break. To his annoyance, his stump had swollen from yesterday’s activities and it hurt too much to attach his prosthetic. Luckily he had brought his cane from home, so he didn’t have to ask for someone to bring him the cane Hamid had given him the day before. 

The Hall was silent as he heaved himself up, washed, dressed, and stumped downstairs to investigate the breakfast situation. It appeared that though the servants were up and busy, they weren’t used to the Hall occupants being up at dawn. They were all too well-trained to react to his missing leg and not wanting to give them extra work, Zolf just asked for some bread and cheese. He took it up to the reading room Hamid had shown him the other day, settling down comfortably with a book. Sometime later a servant brought him a pot of tea. 

Zolf had sent Mr Cardy to the mines to tell the foremen they were in charge for a week, as he was taking a short holiday for the first time in a year – he wanted to stay with Sasha while she recovered, until she was well enough to go back to the manor, and he was loathe to leave her alone with the cause of her injuries, even if MacGuffingham seemed completely uninterested in his guests. Zolf was taking advantage of the time off to get some reading done.

Hamid showed up in the mid-morning, looking tousled and sleepy. Zolf had never seen Hamid look less than perfectly put together, apart from the day before when Hamid had shown up at Smith manor soaked and dishevelled. 

‘You didn’t have to get up early for me,’ he said, smiling at Hamid’s attempts at nonchalance.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Hamid said, sniffy, as he selected a book and settled down in the wingback armchair next to Zolf’s. ‘How is Miss Rackett this morning?’ he asked politely.

Zolf had poked his head into her bedroom on his way up to the reading room. She had been deeply asleep – unusual for her, as she was generally an early riser like Zolf – and he had left her to rest.

‘Sleeping, last I checked,’ Zolf said. ‘Probably the best thing for her right now.’

Hamid nodded.

‘And how are you?’ he asked. He made an excellent effort to look only at Zolf’s face, but Zolf caught his eyes flicking quickly to his missing leg.

‘Much lighter,’ Zolf joked, enjoying the panicked look on Hamid’s face as he tried to decide whether it was polite to laugh. ‘It’s been worse,’ he added. ‘Hurts a bit from yesterday, but nothing a sit down and a rest can’t solve.’

‘I’m glad,’ Hamid said. ‘I’d hate to think that I’d caused you to hurt yourself. I should have sent the carriage to get you.’

‘You did the right thing, sending the carriage for Azu,’ Zolf said. ‘I’ll live – it was my own stupidity to ride so hard.’

‘It’s understandable. You were worried,’ Hamid said, softly. ‘You and Miss Rackett are clearly very close. How long has she been your ward?’

‘Only two years,’ Zolf admitted, ‘but we were both alone before. We had no one, and then we had each other.’

Hamid’s eyes were damp – he looked almost wistful.

‘She’s lucky to have you,’ he said. ‘Most guardians care very little for their charges.’

Zolf frowned – he wondered if Hamid knew this from personal experience.

‘I didn’t want a ward at all. I only took her in because I owed Wilde a favour. It’s been the best thing I’ve done in a long time,’ he said.

Hamid smiled at him. The morning light shone off his sharp cheekbones and sparkled in his warm, soulful eyes, and Zolf was struck once again by just how attractive Hamid Saleh Haroun al Tahan was.

‘It’s lucky for me that you’re staying here, too,’ Hamid said, ‘because now I don’t have to wait a day to hear just how much you disagree with me.’

‘It’s not my fault that your views are naïve.’ 

‘And it’s not mine that yours are old and stuck in their ways.’ Hamid’s eyes were twinkling. 

‘You might not like arguing with me in person,’ Zolf admitted. ‘I’ve been told I can get quite… forceful.’

‘It’s what my naïve ideas need,’ Hamid said, airily. ‘And your letters were also… forceful, so I doubt I’ll be that surprised.’

Hamid may not have been surprised, but Zolf was. Pleasantly so. Over the first few days of Sasha’s recuperation at MacGuffingham Hall, he and Hamid had many discussions – some akin to arguments, but never to the point of true unpleasantness – and Zolf had to readjust his original impression of Mr Al Tahan. He had somewhat dismissed the man as being young and naïve, and gentle-hearted with it. The longer he spent with him, the more he realised that though Hamid was all of those things, he nevertheless had a core of steel and was unafraid to fight back. His relationship with MacGuffingham was interesting, too – rather than being the quiet friend, bullied around by his larger and more impressive companion as Zolf had originally assumed, Hamid seemed to rule over MacGuffingham’s more impulsive side and practically ran his house and estate for him. MacGuffingham was very rarely around, to Zolf’s relief, since the few times they did meet they instantly rubbed each other up the wrong way and Hamid had to play peacemaker. Grizzop drik acht Amsterdam, Zolf saw hardly at all. Grizzop rose even earlier than Zolf and spent almost all his time on the grounds, from what Zolf could tell. Nevertheless, he was civil enough whenever he passed Zolf in the hall, and he seemed to take a strange liking to Sasha, as he always asked how she was. 

MacGuffingham was always out hunting with his huge dog, or searching for the bandits with some of the groomsmen, or riding, or other such activities, and as such was not often in the house. Hamid, on the other hand, seemed to do all the management of the house, organising the expenses, planning meals with the cook, and working on the taxes in one of the many studies.

Zolf only knew this after coming across Hamid in one of the small libraries. Zolf had gone searching for some easy literature for Sasha, who was going a little crazy with boredom. Hamid had his head down on the desk and was muttering under his breath when Zolf walked through the door. Hamid’s head had snapped up at the sound of his thumping prosthetic. 

‘Oh. Mr Smith,’ Hamid said tiredly, rubbing his eyes. ‘I was just…’

‘Doing MacGuffingham’s work,’ Zolf said, unimpressed.

Hamid sighed.

‘He asked me to. I’m his friend.’

‘Does he pay you?’

Hamid looked away.

‘His estates… they aren’t in very good shape,’ Hamid admitted. ‘I’m doing this in return for… I’m doing this as a friend.’

Zolf caught the misspeak, but Hamid looked too tired and stressed, so he pretended he hadn’t heard.

‘You look awful,’ he said, bluntly. Hamid rubbed his hands over his face and gave a short, humourless laugh.

‘I didn’t get much sleep,’ he said.

Zolf nodded. He didn’t know what to say. 

Later, during his afternoon card games with Sasha, he brought up the topic of Hamid as casually as he could. From the look on Sasha’s face, he wasn’t very successful. 

‘He looked like he’d barely slept,’ Zolf said, trying to sound casual.

‘Probably because he was up late teaching me chess,’ Sasha said, nonchalantly, as she inspected her hand. 

‘He… what?’ Zolf realised his hands had drooped in his shock, and Sasha could easily look down and see his cards without even having to resort to her usual tricks and sleight of hand.

‘He said he couldn’t sleep, and asked if I wanted a game of cards,’ Sasha said, grinning. ‘I told ‘im that I cheat at cards, and he offered to teach me chess. Much harder to cheat at chess,’ she mused.

‘That’s nice of him,’ Zolf said, feeling strange. 

‘He is nice,’ Sasha agreed. Visions of Hamid and Sasha bonding over a chessboard lit by soft lamplight were flashing before Zolf’s eyes. They were much closer in age, after all, both young and free. They looked good together. Zolf hated it.

‘He taught me some Arabic, too, so I can surprise Azu,’ Sasha continued, and Zolf immediately realised he was being an idiot. ‘I’m not too bad at languages, and he said he’d teach me the basics. I just… he said Azu felt a little homesick, so I’m hoping that will help her feel better.’

Zolf grinned.

‘Well, we wouldn’t want her to get so homesick that she went back to Cairo,’ he said, teasing.

Sasha just smugly put down her hand and won the game.

*

Azu pronounced Sasha fit to move the following week, and Zolf rode his horse back to Smith Manor at a more sedated pace to fetch the carriage. MacGuffingham was, as usual, nowhere to be seen, but Hamid saw them off at the door. He’d rustled up an old bath chair that Zolf assumed had belonged to MacGuffingham’s mother, and insisted Sasha use it, though Sasha insisted on walking down the stairs herself. Zolf and Azu hovered like mother hens the whole way down, and though Sasha gave no sign of discomfort, she sank into the bath chair at the base of the stairs without any argument.

‘Thank you, again, Mr Al Tahan,’ Zolf said, earnestly, to Hamid.

‘Really, it was the least we could do,’ Hamid said, smiling. He leant in close, speaking quietly and directly to Zolf. ‘I do hope we can continue our discussions in person. And please, Mr Smith – call me Hamid.’

‘Yes, I – me too. Uh, Zolf,’ Zolf said, fumbling over his words. A faint snort emanated from the direction of Sasha’s chair.

‘Zolf,’ Hamid said, in his smooth voice.

On the carriage ride home, Sasha teased Zolf relentlessly. Zolf was just glad that she was getting better – she clearly wasn’t in too much pain if she had the energy to make fun of him. She was less happy when they arrived back at the manor and she was told that, until she was well enough, she would be using one of the bedrooms on the ground floor. 

‘I can go up the stairs,’ she grumbled, though Zolf noticed that she didn’t attempt to climb them to prove her point.

Zolf went back to work, and Sasha completely ignored the bath chair and instead stole one of Zolf’s canes to get around. Before long she was almost completely healed and insisted that she be moved back into her own room. Zolf only agreed on the condition that she got the all clear from Azu.

Azu stayed for dinner after pronouncing Sasha well, and the discussion turned to the MacGuffingham Ball.

‘I think Mr Al Tahan delayed it just so you could attend,’ Azu said. ‘He really wants you to go.’ Something sour about Azu’s tone made Zolf think that Azu had the wrong idea of Hamid’s intentions towards Sasha, and he opened his mouth to correct her. Sasha got there first.

‘It’s cos he knows that Zolf won’t go if I don’t,’ she said, grinning. 

Zolf spluttered.

‘He’s your friend,’ Zolf said, ‘he wanted to wait until you were well enough to come for your own sake.’

‘Hmm,’ Sasha hummed. ‘And yet, it won’t be me he’s going to ask to dance.’

Zolf groaned.

‘I can’t dance,’ he said, ‘not with this.’ He slapped his prosthetic loudly. ‘He’ll have to dance with you instead.’

Azu was looking between them like a spectator at a tennis match.

‘There’ll be dancing?’ she asked. ‘I don’t know any English dances.’

‘Sasha’ll teach you,’ Zolf offered.

Azu turned to Sasha, beaming. 

‘You know how to dance?’

Sasha had sunk so low in her chair that she was barely visible, and the parts of her that could be seen were bright red.

‘Yeah,’ she muttered. ‘Eldarion made sure I was taught how to be a proper lady. I know a few dances.’

‘You don’t have to teach me, if you don’t want to,’ Azu said hurriedly. Zolf only just stopped himself sighing in frustration.

‘No, it’s… I don’t mind,’ Sasha mumbled. Azu beamed even brighter.

Zolf described his success in getting Sasha and Azu dancing together in his next letter to Hamid. In his reply, Hamid seemed impressed with Zolf’s scheme. He also wrote something about looking forward to the dancing, and Zolf panicked that Hamid would expect Zolf to be able to dance, too.

The day of the Ball drew nearer, and all too soon Zolf was donning his naval dress uniform and tidying his beard and worrying. Sasha had for once worn a dress without complaint, though Zolf discovered that the skirt was in fact wide trousers when he watched Sasha climb into the carriage. 

‘It was Azu’s idea,’ Sasha said, as Zolf raised an eyebrow. ‘Hamid made them for me, too. Did you know he apprenticed to a tailor?’

Zolf hadn’t known. 

‘I thought his parents were bankers,’ Zolf said. Sasha just shrugged. 

‘I think he’s rich enough that he can do what he wants,’ she said.

It was true, but Zolf pondered that fact as their carriage rattled and rolled towards MacGuffingham Hall. Despite all their talks, Hamid had never mentioned his family except to say that they were in Cairo. All Zolf knew was what Wilde had told him – that Hamid was the son of wealthy foreign bankers. 

He did know, of course, that Hamid practically ran the MacGuffingham estate for free, and had moved to the country apparently just to help his friend. That still puzzled Zolf – everything about Hamid screamed wealth and expensive taste – he looked markedly out of place in Herefordshire. Yet he was widely read, and apparently not without talents – though he’d never had to work for money, he’d clearly gone out and learnt new skills for the sake of them. 

Zolf’s thoughts were still full of Hamid when they drew up to the Hall. There was a warm light shining from the open front doors and the entrance was decorated with lights and cloth. From within came the sound of lively music and happy voices.

‘It won’t be so bad,’ Sasha said, apparently catching the dread on Zolf’s face.

‘It’s alright for you,’ Zolf said. ‘You have two legs to dance with.’

‘That didn’t stop you last year, at the midsummer dance,’ Sasha pointed out.

Zolf didn’t want to say out loud that last year there weren’t people at the dance whose opinions he cared about.

Almost as soon as they walked through the front doors, and their coats were taken from them by the efficient servants, they were accosted by Azu. She was resplendent in pink and looked incredibly pleased to see them.

‘At last!’ She cried. ‘I’ve been waiting for my dance instructor.’

‘You’re good enough to dance without me,’ Sasha said. Azu grinned.

‘But I don’t want to dance without you,’ she replied, taking Sasha’s arm and all but dragging her away. ‘Apologies, Mr Smith, but I need to borrow your ward.’

‘You’re welcome to her,’ Zolf laughed. He watched, amused, as Azu steered Sasha towards the large dancing hall, before setting off to explore the party. His real goal, however, was to find Hamid, and see if he couldn’t try harder to unravel the mystery that was Mr Al Tahan.

Everyone was having a wonderful time, and the mood was infectious. It seemed like the entire town had been invited – Zolf was constantly stopped by his employees for a short chat, and Barnes brought him a drink over, matching Zolf in his dress uniform. 

‘You look purposeful,’ Barnes commented. ‘Where are you trying to get to?’

Zolf looked around the thick thrum of bodies, all colours and patterns. 

‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen Mr Al Tahan?’ Zolf asked. 

Barnes looked thoughtful.

‘I think I saw him in one of the smaller sitting rooms,’ he said. ‘Away from the crush of the main rooms.’

‘Thank you,’ Zolf said. ‘I’ll, uh… I’ll go and see if he’s still there.’

‘You can pass on my thanks!’ Barnes called after him.

Zolf wove his way through the crowd as gracefully as he could manage, avoiding stepping on anyone’s feet with his prosthetic, and headed towards the small sitting room where he and Sasha had first met Hamid. It was set a little away from the main large rooms, where the music and the food were and therefore where most of the guests were, though there were a few people taking refuge from the busy party dotted around the smaller rooms.

Zolf walked into the small sitting room and saw Hamid on the sofa, a drink held loosely in one hand, his back to Zolf and the door. He was wearing a beautifully cut suit, and though Zolf knew little about fashion and style he could still recognise when someone wore clothes well. Hamid always wore clothes well, but this suit was a level above usual.

Zolf faltered as he stepped into the room and saw that Hamid wasn’t alone – he was sitting close to another man, apparently deep in a private conversation. The other man turned his head slightly, the light catching on his face, and Zolf felt a cold shiver down his spine as he recognised him. It was the heir of the Langdon Mines, Gideon. And his face was close enough to Hamid’s to no doubt see the orange-gold flecks in Hamid’s eyes and the bronze tones in his dark hair. 

Zolf froze, wondering whether he could sidle away without being spotted, but his indecision cost him his chance – Gideon Langdon had already looked up and caught sight of Zolf just standing in the doorway, staring in their direction. His mouth twisted in something of a sneer and his lips moved as he said something quietly to Hamid. Hamid turned around with wide eyes, looking pinkly pleased.

‘Zolf!’ He called, beckoning him over. ‘You’re here!’

Zolf stumped over.

‘I am,’ he said, not taking his eyes off Langdon’s face. Langdon was staring daggers at him whenever Hamid wasn’t looking, and Zolf stared right back.

‘This is Gideon Langdon – my old school friend,’ Hamid said. His eyes were wide and somewhat manic, and his forehead was faintly dewy with sweat. Zolf wondered whether he’d overindulged on the wine already.

‘Yes, we’ve met,’ Langdon said. ‘How is the repair work going?’ he asked, sickly sweet. ‘It sounds expensive.’

‘They’re on track to be done by the summer,’ Zolf said, gritting his teeth. ‘The safety of my workers is much more important than the expense, Mr Langdon.’

‘And that is admirable. Foolish, but admirable.’ Langdon smirked at him over his wine glass. ‘How are your profits, Mr Smith? We’ve done very well over the last quarter due to the lack of… competition.’

Zolf gritted his teeth and clenched his hands into fists. Hamid could clearly sense the tension in the air, and he laughed, high and nervous.

‘Come now, Gideon, no business talk. It’s a party,’ he said. He plucked Langdon’s empty wine glass from his hand and quickly stood. ‘Why don’t we go and get another drink.’

‘Yes, let’s,’ Langdon said, getting smoothly to his feet. He sent Zolf another oily grin and slid an arm around Hamid’s shoulders.

‘I’ll see you later, Zolf?’ Hamid asked.

Zolf just nodded dumbly, and then just stood there as Langdon steered Hamid away. He watched as Langdon leant in too close to whisper something into Hamid’s ear. He watched until they vanished into the crowd before he turned around and shuffled out of the sitting room. 

He glanced at the bustling dance hall and caught a short glimpse of Azu’s pink concoction of a dress swirling around in the spinning crowd. At least some people were having fun, Zolf thought, and rather than fight his way through the crowd he snuck up the grand staircase to the quiet reading room. It was dark and peaceful, and it smelt comfortingly of old books. Zolf hesitated for a second before helping himself to a small glass of whisky and settling down in his favourite armchair with a book.

He wasn’t sure how long he was there before the door creaked open to reveal Hamid. For once, his hair was not perfectly coiffed but looked damp and tousled.

‘There you are,’ he sighed, smiling as he walked into the room properly and shut the door behind himself. ‘I’ve been looking for you. Tired of the dancing already?’

Zolf was tired. He put his book down and rubbed his face. Resentment was curdling inside him like week-old milk.

‘Mr Langdon clearly did recognise you,’ he said icily. ‘I didn’t realise Mr Langdon was such a close personal friend of yours.’ The words came out more sharply than he had intended. Hamid took a step back.

‘Oh, uh, he’s… well,’ Hamid stuttered. 

Zolf stood abruptly. All he could see when he looked at Hamid was Langdon’s smirking face and his arm sliding around Hamid’s shoulders.

‘He’s a bad sort,’ Zolf said. ‘The Langdons treat their miners like dirt and care more about money than people’s lives.’

‘I’m sure that he wouldn’t be so cold-hearted,’ Hamid said, shaking his head. ‘No… he was always a good friend at school. He was popular. People liked him. He’s got a good heart – he supported me after my engagement was called off. Maybe his father…’

‘You can hardly say you’re a good judge of character,’ Zolf spat, ‘since you remain friends with MacGuffingham regardless of the awful things he does.’

Hamid’s face, which had been pale and shocked, hardened at the mention of his friend.

‘You don’t have any idea what Bertie has done for me,’ he said. ‘What he’s given up, what he’s risked… He’s a true friend, unlike some I could mention.’

Zolf harrumphed.

‘And I suppose that’s aimed at me?’

‘Do you really think so little of me?’ Hamid asked, his voice sharp and loud. ‘That I am so naïve and soft-hearted that I think the best of everyone and let them walk all over me?’’

‘Yes!’ Zolf cried. ‘You are young, and naïve, and you have awful friends who take advantage of you!’

‘And you’re different, I suppose,’ Hamid said, coldly. ‘When you take advantage of me, it’s not the same.’

That stung. Zolf took a deep breath.

‘Do you really think that? That I took advantage of you when Sasha needed help?’

Hamid’s face dropped.

‘No, no, not that – never that,’ he said. ‘I only meant…’ he tailed off. ‘You really do think so little of me,’ he said quietly, sounding hopelessly sad. It tugged at Zolf’s chest, but only faintly – he was still angry at Langdon, and angry at Hamid, and angry at himself.

‘You should go,’ Hamid said, sniffing but drawing himself up proudly. ‘I wouldn’t want to bother you any longer with my youth and naivete. Give Miss Rackett my regards. Goodbye… Mr Smith.’

‘Mr Al Tahan,’ Zolf said, stiffly. He strode out of the reading room as fast as his leg would allow, practically holding his breath as he walked past Hamid. Once back in the throng of guests he hurried to find Sasha and practically dragged her away, barely letting her say goodbye to Azu before bundling her in their carriage. They travelled back the short distance to the manor in silence.

‘I don’t see why I had to leave just cos you argued with ‘amid,’ Sasha said mulishly, as she stamped angrily into the hall. 

‘Mr Al Tahan’s choice in companionship leaves a lot to be desired.’

‘We already knew about MacGuffingham, though,’ Sasha pointed out. ‘I’ve gotten good at ignoring him when ‘e calls me young lady.’

‘It’s not him I’m worried about,’ Zolf said darkly, angrily unbuttoning his military jacket and throwing it carelessly at the coat stand. It missed and slumped to the floor in a lifeless heap. ‘He and Langdon looked like they were practically ready to have the banns read.’

‘Oh, so you were _jealous_.’ Sasha rolled her eyes.

‘No,’ Zolf said, stiffly, ‘I just saw his true colours. Anyone able to get close to that snake of a man is no friend of mine.’

‘What did Langdon do to you?’ Sasha was frowning, now. ‘They’re just your competitors, aren’t they?’

Zolf heaved a great breath. He could feel the buried hurt and anger flaring again, and he was suddenly overcome with tiredness.

‘I don’t ask you about your past,’ he said sharply. ‘I’ll ask you kindly to offer me the same politeness.’

Sasha flinched back.

‘Alright,’ she said, frowning. ‘If that’s what you want.’

‘Yes.’ Zolf rubbed his face again. His uniform was tight and uncomfortable, and he wanted nothing more than to hide from the world. ‘Yes, it is.’

Sasha shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, but Zolf could see the hurt in her face. Zolf knew he’d regret his harsh words later, but right now he was hurting too much and didn’t care.

‘I’m going to bed. Goodnight Sasha,’ he said, before slowly climbing the stairs. His leg throbbed, even though he’d done no dancing.

Sasha didn’t call after him.

That night, after lying awake for hours, Zolf fell into a troubled sleep. He dreamt of spinning around an elegant hall, easily dancing on his two legs, holding a slim, attractive man in his arms. But the more they spun, the harder it was to hold on. The man drew further and further away, and Zolf couldn’t keep him close.

*

The days grew longer and warmer, and as the work was completed in the mines Zolf found that he was busier than ever. Despite this, he still missed Hamid’s letters. When he caught himself thinking wistfully of their conversations, he forced himself to picture Langdon, but that only served to make him angry.

Sasha seemed to pick up on his bad mood, and she had been avoiding him since he’d brought up her past. Zolf missed her, but he knew he had wronged her, and it was up to her when she decided to forgive him. So, he threw himself into his work.

On a pleasant weekday morning, when Zolf was at the manor working through the accounts rather than at the mines themselves, he decided to take a walk into town to visit the post office and do other chores he’d been putting off for too long. The country lanes were bursting with life and sound, and birdsong accompanied him all the way to the main road.

Zolf looked through the windows of the church as he passed, to see if he could catch a glimpse of Azu. He saw a flash of pink but was too cowardly to actually go in and see her. Zolf had no idea what Azu would think of his outburst and falling out with Hamid, but he didn’t want to know.

His chores took barely any time, and before long he was walking back up the country lanes towards the manor, enjoying the chance to stretch his legs in the sunshine.

Then he rounded a corner and bumped into Hamid and Grizzop.

He panicked for a second, then bowed slightly.

‘Mr Al Tahan. Mr Grizzop,’ he said, stiffly, before continuing to walk.

‘Mr Smith…’ Hamid called after him quietly.

Zolf paused, then, still facing away but not wanting to rudely walk on and ignore Hamid’s pleading tone.

‘Perhaps we should talk another time, Mr Al Tahan,’ Zolf said, leaning heavily on his cane but still not looking back. He could not bear to see Hamid’s face, mournful as it no doubt was.

There was a silence – a profound silence. Even the noisy birds in the hedgerow had ceased to sing. 

‘Zo-‘ Hamid began, but he was hushed quickly by Grizzop. Grizzop wasn’t even looking at Hamid; he was staring intently into a nearby hedge, his finger at his lips. If he had been a dog, he would have had his ears pricked up and his hackles raised. His hand was hovering near his hip.

Zolf listened hard – the silence was punctuated by his own nervous breathing. Then he heard it – a faint crackle of undergrowth, the glint of sunlight off bared steel in the hedge. Grizzop gave a strange hand signal to Hamid, and Hamid drew the small curved sword Zolf had seen him wield before. Zolf tightened his grip on his cane and felt for the hidden catch on its side.

‘Will you be joining us or not?’ Grizzop snapped at the hedgerow.

A sudden stir of movement followed his pronouncement, and four burly men leapt onto the small country road, bristling with weapons. In the same moment, Grizzop had drawn a pistol from his belt and already taken the first shot – Hamid’s sword was raised high and caught the noonday sun. Zolf lifted his cane and pressed the catch – a small, sharp blade extended from the end, a spring-loaded mechanism that Sasha had given him for his birthday. He raised his cane – now more of a glaive – and thrust it at the man charging towards him.

Zolf got in a good hit, but the man had momentum and charged directly into him even as the blade pierced his shoulder. Zolf was already unbalanced both by the lack of his cane as an aid and the uneven mud surface beneath his feet, and so he fell heavily back onto the sun-baked ground. His attacker followed him down. Zolf managed to get a good hit in the man’s face just as the man gasped and rolled aside. Zolf squinted up to see Hamid standing over his prone form, his sword still out and glistening with blood.

‘Quickly,’ Hamid said, offering his hand. Zolf used it to heave himself up, readjusting his cane in his grasp to get his balance back. His attacker had already limped off, following after his friends as they staggered away from Grizzop. Grizzop’s teeth were bared and he looked almost feral as he swiped at the retreating men. Zolf’s initial assessment of Grizzop drik acht Amsterdam had been correct – he was a fierce fighter, a veritable whirling dervish, and had fought off two of the four men by himself. The bandits had clearly realised they no longer had the advantage of surprise as they retreated hurriedly back into the hedgerow and into the fields behind. 

The three of them were left standing in the lane, panting from exertion. Zolf watched as a series of intent looks passed between Hamid and Grizzop, before Grizzop bounded away through the hedgerow in hot pursuit. Zolf watched him sprint away, hound and horse and hunter in one. 

‘If he’s a normal master of the hunt, then I’m a donkey,’ Zolf said.

Hamid looked strangely upset.

‘I’m so sorry, Zolf,’ he said, looking almost as though he might cry. ‘I… I’m so sorry.’

‘Why?’ Zolf frowned. ‘If you and Mr Grizzop hadn’t been here, I wouldn’t have been able to fight them off alone.’

Hamid looked wretched.

‘I… I should explain. Later. May I… may I visit you this evening, to have a chance to explain everything?’

Zolf frowned.

‘What could there be to explain?’ he asked.

‘Please, Zolf.’ Hamid had moved closer and taken one of Zolf’s hands. He clutched it between both his own. ‘Please, Zolf.’

‘Tonight, then,’ Zolf said. ‘You’re welcome to stay for dinner. Sasha’s missed you.’

Hamid smiled weakly.

*

Dinner was not nearly as awkward as Zolf had expected – Sasha was very happy to see Hamid again, and she even warmed up to Zolf a little when Hamid revealed that Zolf had invited him. After the food had been cleared away, Zolf and Hamid retreated to Zolf’s study. Zolf poured them both a whisky and bid Hamid to sit down.

‘So. What do you need to explain?’ Zolf asked.

Hamid bit his lip.

‘I’m trying to decide how to begin,’ he admitted. ‘First – I really am very sorry, for everything. You’ll understand that it’s all been my fault and I cannot begin to describe how sorry I am for bringing this down on you.’

Zolf was getting frustrated with all the apologies without any information.

‘Mr Al Tahan… Hamid,’ he amended, after seeing Hamid’s hurt expression. ‘I should… apologise for the other night. Langdon and I… we have history, and it was unfair of me to involve you.’

‘Oh.’ Hamid’s were bright. ‘Oh, but Zolf… I have wronged you, so much more than you know.’

‘How?’ Zolf asked. ‘Surely it is my decision to make, whether you have wronged me or not?’

‘And you will decide it, once I have told you my secret,’ Hamid admitted. He took a deep breath. ‘I’m not sure what you know of my family,’ he began.

‘Only that they are wealthy foreign bankers. That is what Wilde said to us, anyway.’

‘Well. That’s only half the truth.’ Hamid sat forward in his chair and fixed Zolf with his blazing eyes. ‘My family… we’ve lived in Egypt for centuries. We’re part of the royal line – related directly to King Apophis.’

Zolf’s brain froze. 

‘So… you’re a prince?’ he said.

‘Not really,’ Hamid said, chuckling lightly. ‘I’m around eighth in line to the throne, though we don’t actually know – the King keeps his family secret, to prevent them from being targeted.’

Zolf’s brain was spinning with the new knowledge. He frowned.

‘So why do you have to apologise?’ he asked. ‘For not telling us?’

‘Well, that, but mostly… I moved to Herefordshire with Bertie because he was my friend and needed help, that’s the truth,’ Hamid said, ‘but not the whole truth. The main reason is that… well, we had reason to believe that my heritage had become known to certain anti-monarchy groups in London, and Wilde thought it best that I lay low for a time.’

There was a quiet gasp, and Zolf frowned.

‘Sasha?’ he called. There was silence – Hamid just looked confused. ‘Sasha, if you’ve listened to all of it so far, you may as well join us,’ Zolf sighed. There was a moment’s silence as Hamid looked around the small room, still confused.

Finally the small servant’s door – disguised to match the wooden inlaid walls – swung open, and Sasha slunk out. 

‘’ello, Mr Al Tahan,’ she said, perching herself on Zolf’s desk. Hamid shot Zolf a surprised look – Zolf just shrugged.

‘It’s good that you’re here, Miss Rackett,’ Hamid said, finally. ‘I owe you an apology too.’

‘You still need to explain that,’ Zolf said.

‘Somehow, someone must know I’m here,’ Hamid said. ‘The attacks – there have been two, now. The first – well. I’m dreadfully sorry, Miss Rackett, but you suffered because of my hubris. I should have stayed more hidden.’

‘Those men today,’ Zolf said, slowly. ‘They were after you too?’

Hamid held up his hands.

‘I can only assume,’ he said. ‘Grizzop is… my bodyguard, of a sort. He cleared out the bandits from the MacGuffingham estate and has been trying to trace their whereabouts, but he’s been struggling to keep track of them all.

‘So, as you can see,’ Hamid said, sadly, ‘knowing me has put you both in danger. Your injuries were my fault, Miss Rackett.’

Zolf sighed. He didn’t know what to think. He wasn’t so cruel as to blame Hamid entirely – they had not known each other for long, and Zolf didn’t expect to be trusted with such a secret. But then he thought of Sasha, who had escaped her previous life of danger in London and put under his protection, only to be hurt again here. He thought of her small and delicate in that huge four poster bed. Hamid was within his rights to keep his secret from them, but Sasha could have died. 

There was a choice to make, and Zolf would choose Sasha’s health and happiness over anything.

Zolf drained his glass and stood.

‘Thank you for letting us know,’ he said, finally. ‘I think… it would be best if you left.’

Hamid stood as well. His face was impassive but his soulful eyes were sad.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, quietly. ‘I was hoping it would stay a secret.’

‘You’re in lonely country now, Mr al-Tahan,’ Zolf sighed, the words coming out more bitterly than he had intended. ‘We none of us have any secrets here.’

‘Or if we do, we don’t have them for long,’ Sasha added.

‘I apologise. Miss Rackett. Mr Smith.’ Hamid bowed formally. ‘Goodnight.’

‘I’ll walk you out,’ Zolf said, and together they walked silently down the stairs and to the front door.

‘Look after yourself,’ Zolf said, quietly, as Hamid lingered in the doorway. Outside the manor, Grizzop was waiting on his horse and holding the reins of Hamid’s. He nodded curtly at Zolf.

Zolf watched as Hamid mounted and the two of them trotted away into the pale evening light. Hamid looked back at Zolf only once before urging his horse into a canter.

*

‘I think you were too harsh on him,’ Sasha said, later. Zolf wished she would leave him alone.

‘He’s the reason you were crushed by his oafish friend,’ Zolf pointed out. ‘And even without that, the bandits could have killed you.’

‘Yeah, but the bandits were on our side of the estate lines,’ Sasha said. ‘I might’ve come across them at any time. Really, it was lucky that they were there too.’

Zolf stood, and took Sasha’s hands in his. 

‘But they were only there because of him,’ he said. He thought of the Sasha Wilde had brought to him two years previous, quiet and thin and sad. He thought of her many scars. He looked at her now, tanned and strong from her daily walks, eyes bright and happy. ‘And Sasha – I need you to be safe.’

Sasha hugged him awkwardly, all lanky and bony.

‘I am safe, Zolf,’ she said. ‘I’ve never been as safe as I am here.’

*

Sasha wasn’t at breakfast the next day.

‘Has Miss Rackett already gone out for her walk?’ Zolf asked Mrs Cardy vaguely, as he opened his newspaper. Sasha loved the transition between night and day, and often watched the sunrise from the highest tree on the estate. It wasn’t unusual for her to go out early and come back for a late breakfast, much to Mrs Cardy’s displeasure.

‘I don’t think so, Mr Smith,’ Mrs Cardy said as she poured the tea. ‘Her boots are still by the door.’

Zolf frowned and shook the newspaper out to smooth the creases. A piece of paper slipped from between its pages and fluttered down onto his lap.

He picked up the paper and read it. His blood went cold.

‘Get Mr Cardy to saddle my horse,’ Zolf barked, scrambling to his feet. ‘And then tell him to go to town and get Barnes and any men he can find.’

‘Where are you going, Mr Smith?’ Mrs Cardy asked, panicked by his urgent tone. 

‘MacGuffingham Hall,’ he said. ‘Tell them to meet me at the town church!’

Zolf hurried upstairs as fast as his leg would allow. In his study, he plucked the small key from within an old copy of the farmer’s almanac that had been his grandfather’s and opened his safe. He grabbed the papers inside and stuffed them into his leather satchel. By the time he made it back downstairs Mr Cardy had already tacked his horse and brought her around the front.

‘Why the hurry, sir?’ Mr Cardy asked, confused.

‘It’s Sasha,’ Zolf said as he swung himself up on his horse. ‘She’s in danger.’

MacGuffingham Hall was silent in the early morning light as Zolf galloped up the long drive. Once there he dismounted with enough force to jar his leg, though he ignored the pain and marched right up to the front door. He rang the bell and smashed his fist on the door to punctuate his urgency.

A butler answered the door with his nose upturned.

‘I’m afraid Sir MacGuffingham is not taking visitors at this hour,’ he said.

Zolf just pushed past him and staggered into the atrium.

‘HAMID!’ he yelled, all politeness and propriety abandoned in his panic. 

‘Sir…’ the butler began, but he was silenced by the arrival of Grizzop from a side room, his appearance so sudden and silent it made both Zolf and the butler jump.

‘What’s happened?’ Grizzop asked sharply.

‘It’s Sasha,’ Zolf gasped between heaving breaths. ‘They’ve taken Sasha.’ He held out the ransom note. Grizzop snatched it and scanned it quickly. Zolf knew the words by heart – they’d been spinning round and around his mind the whole ride to the Hall.

‘If you want to see your ward alive again, you must sell the Smith mines as fast as possible. You have two days.’ Grizzop frowned. ‘Why do they want you to sell the mines?’

‘It’s got to be Langdon,’ Zolf said. ‘He’s many things, but he’s not subtle.’

‘Langdon?’ 

Hamid had appeared at the top of the staircase – he was wearing his morning coat over what looked to be his pyjamas and his hair was a tousled mess. 

‘They’ve taken Sasha,’ Zolf said, his voice cracking. ‘They want me to sell the mines.’

Hamid hurried down the stairs.

‘Zolf…’ he said, taking Zolf’s hands. Zolf only then realised his hands were shaking.

‘We need to go to Langdon’s right now,’ Zolf said.

‘Yes.’ Hamid nodded. ‘Yes, of course. I’ll, um…‘ He looked down at himself. ‘Give me two minutes to get dressed. Ready my horse!’ he called to the shell-shocked butler as he ran back up the stairs.

‘We’ll need help,’ Grizzop said, reading the note again. Zolf nodded.

‘I’ve sent my man down to town to gather some local lads. They’ll meet us at the church.’

‘Good idea,’ Grizzop said approvingly. ‘What’s the plan?’

‘I sell the mines – no doubt he’s waiting for them to be on the market so he can snap them up for a steal. We get Sasha back. The men are just for if he refuses.’ Zolf’s mind was whirring. ‘The bandits were on our side of the estate lines,’ he said, slowly. Grizzop looked at him with a furrowed brow. 

‘What did you say?’ he asked.

‘The ambush… I was there too,’ Zolf said, light dawning. ‘When Hamid and MacGuffingham came across the bandits, Sasha was nearby – what if they’d been staking out the manor, not the Hall?’

‘I don’t understand,’ Grizzop said.

‘Look – what if they don’t know about Hamid?’ Zolf continued. ‘What if it was all just a massive coincidence? What if they’ve been tracking Sasha to orchestrate this?’

‘Why would they attack you, then?’ Grizzop asked. Zolf shrugged.

‘Maybe their first thought was to take me and force me to sell the mines,’ he said. ‘Like I said before, Langdon isn’t subtle. He’s also not very bright.’

‘Maybe,’ Grizzop said, slowly. ‘Wilde and I were wondering how someone could have found Hamid so quickly. We’d done a good job of keeping his whereabouts secret.’

‘They won’t be secret for long if Langdon knows,’ Zolf said darkly.

‘What does Langdon know?’ Hamid asked, breathless, as he hurried back down the stairs. He looked slightly more presentable, though Zolf noticed he’d misbuttoned his shirt.

‘Mr Smith thinks the attacks may have been against him and Miss Rackett, rather than yourself,’ Grizzop said. ‘And it’s not an entirely crazy idea.’

‘It means your secret is still safe,’ Zolf said. Hamid drew himself up.

‘Yes, but that doesn’t help Miss Rackett,’ he said. ‘We should hurry.’

‘We should go to Langdon House,’ Zolf said, nodding at Hamid. 

‘I hear the young lady is in danger!’ bellowed a voice, and Zolf looked up to see MacGuffingham striding down the staircase wearing a steel breastplate emblazoned with an eagle. He was holding a huge bastard sword that was taller than Hamid.

So it was a motley crew who rode to Langdon House. Grizzop peeled off to go to the church and update the small militia Barnes and Mr Cardy were forming, so it was only Zolf, Hamid, and MacGuffingham who arrived there.

The manor looked like it had seen better days. Half the windows were boarded up, and those that weren’t looked cracked and draughty. The brickwork was crumbling under the onslaught of uncontrolled vines and the hinges of the front door were rusty and screeched as they opened.

An old, frail butler peered myopically out at them from within the gloom of the house.

‘I’m afraid Mr Langdon is out,’ he said, in a quavering voice.

Zolf caught a flash of movement from one of the upstairs windows and snorted. 

‘He’ll see us,’ Zolf said. ‘Trust me.’

The butler hobbled away, and Zolf pushed his way through the front door anyway. Hamid was looking around with his mouth open.

‘I never knew it was this bad,’ he said, quietly. ‘Gideon said they’d had money troubles, but this is awful.’

‘Why are you in my house?’ Langdon snapped from the top of the staircase. They all looked up at him. Langdon was dressed, though his shirt was done up haphazardly and his coat was askew. His face was pale, and he looked scared. Good, Zolf thought. He should be scared.

‘I thought you wanted to buy the Smith mines?’ Zolf raised a brow. ‘I assume you thought that to sell them at quickly as possible I would take any price, even one as low as you could afford.’

Langdon went paler still.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said, shrilly.

‘Listen here!’ MacGuffingham bellowed. He charged up the stairs, ignoring Hamid’s attempt to stop him, and he leaned in close to Langdon, bastard sword raised threateningly to his neck. ‘Listen here, you louse, you slimy worm of a man, you’ve endangered the life of a young lady and you’ve embarrassed yourself thoroughly. Now, if you just tell us where Miss Rackett is and solve all this bother, then I will very kindly put this sword away and not _carve you into slices_.’

Even from the bottom of the stairs, Zolf saw Langdon’s eyes flick to the sword. It did look remarkably sharp.

‘It’s not me!’ he squeaked. ‘It’s Barrett! He has her!’

Zolf’s blood went cold. It must have shown on his face, because Hamid rested a tentative hand on Zolf’s forearm.

‘Zolf?’ Hamid asked. ‘Who’s Barrett?’

‘This is not good,’ Zolf said.

MacGuffingham grabbed Langdon by the scruff of his coat and practically dragged him down the stairs.

‘Where is this Barrett?’ MacGuffingham asked with a violent smile, giving Langdon a little shake. Langdon whimpered.

‘He’s hiding her in the mines. My mines!’ He looked close to tears. 

‘Why, Gideon?’ Hamid asked, sadly. ‘Why would you do this?’

‘He said he would help me get the Smith Mines!’ Langdon wailed, slumping to the ground. 

‘Gideon, I thought you were doing well!’ Hamid said. ‘Why didn’t you say something?’

Landon laughed shrilly.

‘Doing well? I’m basically bankrupt,’ Langdon cried. ‘Every time there’s an accident, do you know much it costs to cover it up? To pay off the families?’

Zolf punched him.

‘We need to go,’ he said, cradling his smarting fist, watching in satisfaction as Langdon’s nose bloomed red. ‘Barrett might not be there himself, but if he’s keeping her in the mines then we need to go now. It’s dangerous.’

Langdon was sobbing now, dangling limply from MacGuffingham’s grasp.

‘Bertie, could you ride to the church and tell the others where to go?’ Hamid asked. 

‘Of course,’ MacGuffingham boomed. He shook Langdon like a dog. ‘And what should I do with this pathetic piece of human flesh?’

Langdon whimpered. The elderly butler was nowhere to be seen.

‘Oh, take him with you,’ Hamid said casually. ‘And be sure to let everyone know what he’s done.’

MacGuffingham smiled evilly.

‘Look at that, Langdon!’ he said, jovially. ‘Time for your just desserts.’

*

The Langdon mines weren’t far from the manor, though Zolf and Hamid rode hard anyway. Zolf brought them to a stop a little distance from the main entrance and motioned for Hamid to be quiet.

‘That’s the headframe for the main shaft,’ Zolf whispered, pointing to the tall timber structure looming over the rest of the pit mine. He turned to Hamid. ‘You don’t have to come in. Mines are dangerous places even when they aren’t run by idiots.’

Hamid shook his head, setting his jaw firmly.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m coming in with you.’

‘None of this was your fault, you know,’ Zolf added. 

‘Doesn’t make a difference.’ Hamid was staring at the headframe with a mixture of awe and fear. 

Zolf reached over and, after a breath, took his hand. Hamid turned to look at him and he gave it a squeeze.

‘Thank you for coming with me,’ Zolf said, putting as much feeling into the words as possible.

‘You do owe me a tour,’ Hamid joked weakly, squeezing back. ‘What’s the plan?’

‘There’s only one way in and out,’ Zolf said. ‘So, we’re just going to walk right through the front door. And you have to promise that when I tell you to get out, you get out. No arguments.’

Hamid swallowed, but nodded. 

‘I promise,’ he said.

There were men stationed outside the mine who jerked into threatening shapes when Zolf and Hamid approached, though Hamid put his hands up and Zolf leant heavily on his cane, overplaying his limp.

‘We’re here to negotiate with Barrett,’ Zolf called.

‘He ain’t in the mood to negotiate,’ said one of the men. 

‘He will be when he knows Langdon’s given himself up,’ Zolf said pleasantly.

The two men had a brief, whispered argument, and then one of them sloped into the dark entrance of the mine. The other glared at Hamid and Zolf in silence for almost a full five minutes until his fellow guard returned. Zolf could feel the sweat sliding down his back as he waited, stress and adrenaline and panic all combining in a heady mix.

‘We’re to take you to him,’ the guard said. He frowned at Hamid. ‘Though he didn’t say nothin’ about bringing your friend.’

‘You’re right,’ Zolf said sarcastically. ‘Leave him out here, and he can go for help. I’m sure Barrett will be very happy with you for that.’

Hamid was shoved into the entrance alongside Zolf. As they passed under the headframe, it morbidly reminded Zolf of what the miners called it occasionally, in their maudlin moments. The gallows frame.

Once inside the mine, Zolf preoccupied himself with how shoddy the work was to take his mind off his nerves. Hamid’s face was pale and scared in the lamplight, and looking at him made Zolf feel guilty, so he tried not to look at him.

Barrett and Sasha weren’t deep inside the mine – even Barrett was apparently leery of Langdon’s mine safety. He was surrounded by large, burly lackeys who had to hunch to fit inside the cramped mine. Sasha was curled up on the dirty floor, hands bound, and didn’t even look up when Zolf and Hamid were pushed into the room.

‘So, Langdon was just as useless as I feared,’ Barrett said. ‘Such a pity.’

‘What do you want?’ Zolf asked, cutting straight to business.

‘Why, for our prodigal daughter to return to us,’ Barrett said, smiling. ‘I have no interest in your mines, if that’s what you’re asking.’

‘I have money,’ Hamid blurted out. 

Barrett laughed.

‘I don’t need money,’ he said. ‘I need the best thief I’ve ever worked with. I can pay you for her if that sweetens the deal a little.’

Sasha growled thickly, and Zolf realised with horror that she had been gagged.

‘She’s my ward,’ Zolf said, firmly. ‘And she’s not for sale.’ He stared into Sasha’s eyes and inclined his head slightly. She winked at him subtly, and Zolf noticed that the rope around her hands looked strangely loose.

‘I don’t suppose you know much about mines,’ Zolf said, conversationally. ‘They’re very hard to maintain, especially after the weather we’ve had. And even the safest mines can be deadly.’

He walked slowly past Barrett and Sasha to go slightly deeper in. Barrett’s henchmen followed him closely, and Barret turned towards him too. Behind them, Zolf could see Sasha slowly edging towards the exit. 

‘And this is not the safest mine,’ Zolf said.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Barrett asked, sounding bored. ‘You have nothing I want. This negotiation is over.’

‘Me!’ Hamid squeaked. ‘You can have me!’

Everyone swung to look at him.

‘And why would I want that?’ Barrett asked, amused.

‘I’m eighth in line to the throne of King Apophis,’ Hamid said, his voice steady, as he held out a shining medallion emblazoned with the dragon of the royal crest. ‘Think of the ransom and power you could get for me.’

Even Barrett seemed interested, now – he turned fully towards Hamid.

Zolf seized his chance. 

There was a standing roof support near where Barrett was standing. It was old and warped from damp, buckling under the weight of the ceiling.

‘Go!’ Zolf yelled, as he kicked out with his good leg right at where the support was bent from the strain, and it snapped cleanly, spraying out a burst of splinters.

In his peripheral vision, Zolf saw Hamid and Sasha already start to run for the exit even as the silence was broken by an ominous rumbling. Barrett stared at Zolf, murder in his eyes.

‘What have you done,’ he said, quietly. There was a loud crack and the ceiling began to shake.

But Zolf was already running. 

Zolf was pleased to see that Sasha and Hamid had a good head start and were already a good way towards the mine entrance. The tunnels collapsed behind them as they ran. Zolf tried to run. He really did. But Barrett and Barrett’s henchmen were faster, and one grabbed his coat and pulled him backwards. He hit the floor hard on his back and lay there, winded, as the man loomed over him. 

Zolf gritted his teeth.

Then the man yelled out in pain and grabbed his shoulder. There was a dagger sticking out of it, and the man fell to the side and revealed Hamid.

‘You should be gone!’ Zolf yelled. 

‘Hurry!’ Hamid shouted back, helping Zolf to his feet.

But it was too late. The rumbling overtook them, and Zolf knew they were seconds from a complete cave-in. He grabbed Hamid in his arms and threw himself bodily towards a wall with a newer support.

And then the world collapsed around them.

*

When Zolf opened his eyes to utter blackness, he thought he might be dead. Then the pain that lit up along his side whenever he took a breath told him that he was very much still alive. Zolf felt around and realised that the collapsed tunnel wall was very close, and the structure they were sheltering against had provided them with only a small pocket of air. 

Hamid was still in his arms. Zolf fumbled for his neck and was relieved to feel a pulse. Then a hand gripped his wrist, and he jumped.

‘It’s me,’ Hamid said. ‘You’re awake.’

‘Are you hurt?’ Zolf asked.

‘No, I don’t think so. Not that I can feel, anyway. Are you?’

Hamid’s head must have tipped up, because suddenly Zolf could feel the soft puffs of air against his face as Hamid breathed.

Zolf could feel the pain in his chest and along his back, but it was a low aching pain and was manageable.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Good,’ Hamid said. ‘Good.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Zolf. 

They sat in silence, holding each other in the dark. Zolf hoped that Sasha made it out and away from Barrett. Zolf wondered if they would think him and Hamid dead and lost, whether they would even bother to try and rescue them. He decided not to voice these dark thoughts out loud.

‘How did you know? About Langdon?’ Hamid asked quietly. ‘Maybe I am naïve, but he always seemed so nice to me.’

Zolf sighed. In the complete and utter darkness, every sound seemed louder and sharper.

‘The Langdons and the Smiths have been competitors since our fathers first took charge,’ Zolf said, slowly. ‘It’s always been a delicate balance – when one of us does well, the other suffers. Back when I was a young boy, the Langdons were close to bankruptcy – the closest they’d ever been. My father decided to help them out by buying one of their mines, to give them a helping hand.’ Zolf laughed bitterly. ‘He even gave my brother charge of it – his first major role in the business. But Langdon’s father had been cutting corners for years before then, to save money. The mine was unsafe. My brother and I were both in there when it… when it collapsed. He got me to safety, but Feryn… he didn’t make it.’

Hamid gasped quietly.

‘Oh, Zolf,’ he said.

‘I didn’t want much to do with the mines after that. I went to sea instead, joined the Navy. ‘course, it’s not like luck treated me well out there,’ he said, tapping his prosthetic. It rang hollowly in the dark, empty silence.

‘What made you come back? Take over the family business?’ Hamid asked tentatively.

‘My ship sank. I was the only survivor. I took it as a sign – that once again I’d gone through a catastrophe where those around me suffered and I was miraculously saved. I realised I had to go back and make something of my life.’ He shuffled around, trying to get comfortable on the damp, cold ground. ‘I made it my mission to make sure the Smith mines were the safest they could possibly be.’

‘That’s… admirable,’ Hamid said quietly. ‘Zolf, I… I’m sorry. For everything.’

‘You have nothing to be sorry for,’ Zolf sighed. He leant his head back on the rough wall of the tunnel. ‘I was cruel, and angry, and…’ Zolf thought back to Sasha, angry with him after the MacGuffingham Ball, telling him the truth he didn’t want to hear. ‘And I was jealous,’ he said honestly.

‘I thought it was all about me,’ Hamid said wretchedly. ‘And it put Miss Rackett in danger. I should never have trusted Gideon. He told me you were… well.’

‘What did he tell you?’ Zolf asked. Hamid groaned.

‘I was an idiot to believe it,’ he said. ‘And trust me, I never wanted to. It was just… I trusted Gideon.’

‘What did he tell you?’ Zolf asked, again, worried now. 

‘He might have… intimated that the Smith mines were not doing so well, and that you and Miss Rackett were out looking for… for wealthy marriage prospects,’ Hamid said, all in a rush.

‘He _what_? And you believed him?’

‘No, not really. I didn’t _want_ to,’ Hamid said wretchedly. His grip on Zolf’s wrist tightened. ‘It’s just… well, Wilde has a certain group of friends in London who are like that, and you never seemed to be as… as interested in me as I was in you.’

‘I was,’ Zolf said, quietly. ‘Interested, I mean.’

‘Oh.’ 

‘I just… I’m not good at talking of… of these kinds of things,’ Zolf muttered. ‘I think it would be easier if I wasn’t as interested.’

‘I don’t think that’s how it works,’ Hamid said, laughing slightly.

‘You… you said Langdon helped you after a broken engagement?’ Zolf asked delicately. The thought had been plaguing him ever since their argument.

‘Yes. I, uh, was engaged. But Liliana, she… she didn’t love me, not really. Gideon helped me realise it. He always said that if she broke the engagement just because of my, ah, past gambling habits, then she was never truly in love with me.’

Zolf frowned.

‘Liliana Beekos?’ he asked.

‘Yes – do you know her?’

‘Of a sort.’ Zolf winced. He chose his next words slowly. ‘She was engaged to Langdon for a time, until last year – I heard the banns read at the church. It fell apart just before the wedding – I can only assume she found out the true state of the Langdon family finances.’

‘Oh.’ Hamid’s voice sounded very small. ‘I’ve never known how Liliana found out about my gambling past.’ He paused. ‘Gideon knew, though. He knew everything about me.’

Zolf held Hamid tighter.

‘It doesn’t matter now,’ Zolf sighed. 

It felt strangely intimate in the dark. Though he couldn’t see Hamid, he could feel the weight and warmth of his body. He could feel his heart beating and hear his anxious breathing. Hamid’s hand was still clutching Zolf’s wrist; carefully, Zolf unfurled Hamid’s fingers with his other hand and traced his palm, running a hand up Hamid’s arm as an attempt to comfort, to reassure. He explored Hamid’s slender hand, the delicate inside of his wrist, the joint of his thumb and the tense tendons up his arm to his shoulder.

Slowly, gently, Zolf moved his hand to Hamid’s head. Hamid’s breath caught, but he said nothing and leant his head into Zolf’s hand. Zolf ran his hand through his soft, silky hair that he’d looked at for so long. He traced down past Hamid’s ears and across his sharp cheekbones, his aristocratic nose. Hamid’s own hands came up to slide up Zolf’s neck, to cup his head. His fingers combed through Zolf’s beard – belatedly, Zolf remembered he hadn’t had time to brush it before the discovery of Sasha’s disappearance. His soft fingertips gently stroked along his lips and down the sides of his face. Zolf wished he could see Hamid’s face.

Neither spoke a word. 

*

It was hard to know how long they were down there in the dark before they could hear the beginnings of rumbling. The walls shook gently – Zolf clutched Hamid closer and tried to protect him from the falling dirt and rock with his larger frame. The muffled murmuring sounds of people talking behind a thick wall were growing louder, and Zolf began to hope.

The noise grew louder and louder, till the voices were barely muffled and Zolf could almost make out what they were saying. And then, with a final loud shout, light pierced bright and strong through a gap in the piled rock and dirt.

Azu’s face – smeared with mud and beaming – shone through the small gap even more brightly than the daylight.

‘You’re alive!’ she cried.

Zolf broke into relieved laughter. Hamid, rubbing his eyes from the sudden brightness, joined in.

It took a little longer to completely extract them – dealing with cave-ins without making them worse was always a tricky business, as Zolf well knew – but eventually they staggered out into the sunshine. Sasha launched herself at Zolf once he was out, clutching him tightly – they stumbled and would have fallen if Azu hadn’t been there to catch them.

Sasha pulled back, her face and clothes dirty and torn, and she was grinning so wide it looked painful.

‘You made it out, then?’ Zolf asked, grimacing through the pain in his back and chest that was throbbing now.

‘Yeah. Barrett and some of ‘is guys got out, but this lot were waiting right outside the entrance and caught ‘im,’ Sasha said, jabbing a thumb back at the assembled crowd. Zolf looked around at the familiar faces – Barnes and Mr Cardy had brought several of his miners as well as miscellaneous people Zolf recognised from church. MacGuffingham was there, lordly presiding over several tied-up figures. Grizzop was supervising and wearing a long-suffering expression. 

‘That’s good,’ Zolf sighed. 

‘I told ’em you weren’t dead,’ Sasha insisted. ‘I said you knew the mines too well for that.’

‘I didn’t believe her at first,’ Barnes said as he walked over, ‘but then I remembered that this was the same Mr Smith who was the only survivor of a shipwreck, and I realised she was right.’

‘Yes,’ Zolf said. The pain was flaring stronger in his back, now – exacerbated from walking out of the mine and Sasha’s hug. He gritted his teeth. ‘I think I… Azu…’ he managed, even as his one good leg failed him and his knees buckled.

There was a general commotion around him as Zolf was laid gently on the ground by unseen hands. His vision was spotty and hazy, and he could see Azu in a pink cloud hovering over him. Someone squeezed his hand, and then let go. 

He let himself drift. 

*

He awoke in his own bed, warm and dry and clean from that awful mud. His head span for a minute as he desperately tried to reorient himself. Everything came back to him piecemeal – Sasha missing, Langdon snivelling on the floor, Barrett and his smirk, Hamid in the dark.

Zolf levered himself upright and looked around his room. Sasha was asleep on a chair beside him, dressed in her usual clothes, her neck at an uncomfortable angle.

‘Sasha,’ Zolf attempted, but his voice was dry and cracked. He swallowed and looked around to see a glass of water on his bedside table, a piece of scrap paper serving as a coaster. It was warm and a little stagnant, but it brought sweet relief to his dry throat.

‘Sasha,’ he tried again.

She woke with a snort.

‘Ah, Zolf,’ she grinned. ‘How’re you feeling?’

Zolf mentally took inventory.

‘Sore,’ he admitted. ‘Embarrassed at fainting like a damsel.’

‘You make a bit of a hairy damsel,’ Sasha pointed out. ‘Azu said you had really bad bruising, even worse than mine – you just had to outdo me, didn’t you?’

‘I wish I hadn’t,’ Zolf joked. Laughing hurt, so he wished he hadn’t done that either.

‘Anyway, you’ve only been asleep for about a day,’ Sasha said. ‘Azu didn’t think you’d wake up for ages yet.’

‘And yet you’re still here,’ Zolf said. ‘Wait – a day!’

‘Yup.’ Sasha frowned at him. ‘You hungry? I can get you stuff.’

‘Oh, no, it’s… is everyone… alright?’ Zolf asked.

Sasha’s eyes twinkled. 

‘Barrett’s men got taken away to the relevant authorities,’ she said, ticking them off her fingers. ‘Langdon’s probably going to debtor’s prison, so I guess that’s a happy ending. Anything else? Oh, yeah, I reckon the Langdon mines are up for grabs if you want ’em.’

Zolf heaved an irritated sigh. He knew that Sasha wouldn’t answer properly until he said it plainly.

‘Is Mr Al Tahan alright?’ he asked, desperately trying not to blush.

‘After he finished weeping over your unconscious body, you mean?’ Sasha teased. ‘Yeah, he’s grand,’ she continued, more seriously. ‘No injuries at all, except for a couple of scratches. He said you protected him.’

‘Good,’ Zolf said.

‘He also… might be downstairs,’ Sasha said.

‘He… what? Now?’ Zolf demanded. Sasha nodded, grinning.

‘Well, he was here earlier. He asked if he could stay until you woke up, but Azu kicked him out of your room to go home and get washed and changed.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep.’

A gentle knock on the door startled them both; Azu peered inside, smiling.

‘I thought I could hear voices,’ she said. ‘How are you feeling, Mr Smith?’

‘Better,’ he admitted. ‘Is… is Mr Al Tahan…’

Azu’s smile faded.

‘He went home, I’m afraid, and hasn’t returned. Though I’m sure he’ll come to see you shortly.’

Zolf sank down into his pillows, disappointed.

*

He remained disappointed for the next two weeks. He dealt with being bedbound just as badly as Sasha, if not worse – thankfully he could still do paperwork in bed, because there was an awful lot of paperwork involved in taking over the Langdon mines. While the Smith mines weren’t hurtling towards bankruptcy quite as fast as Zolf had feared, after the poor winter there was less room to manoeuvre than Zolf would have liked. He swallowed his pride and wrote to Wilde, asking if he would be interested in investing more money into the company.

After a fortnight Zolf could move around well enough to start thinking about visiting the Langdon mine to assess the damage. Sasha also kept reminding him about the Summer solstice town dance, which was growing ever closer. Azu was helping to organise it, and Sasha had been roped in to help. 

‘You are coming, aren’t you, Zolf?’ she kept asking. ‘Azu said you’ll be well enough.’

‘I’m coming,’ he replied each time.

Everything was going well. Zolf should have been happy.

But he hadn’t seen Hamid since the day of the tunnel collapse.

He had even gone so far as to ask MacGuffingham how Hamid was, though the man had just snorted and said that Hamid had been away for at least a week and that he had no idea when he was coming back.

‘He’ll come back,’ Sasha said, when Zolf confided in her. ‘Why wouldn’t he?’

Zolf didn’t know, but his traitorous mind kept coming up with reasons. What if Hamid had gone back to Liliana Beekos, now that he knew it had been Gideon who had come between them? Maybe Hamid had gone back to London for good, bored of the Herefordshire countryside. He might have been discovered by the anti-royalists and so had to leave and go into hiding somewhere else.

Or maybe, said a cruel voice in the dark shadows of Zolf’s brain, maybe he just realised he wasn’t as interested in Zolf as he’d thought.

*

Wilde sent a reply to Zolf’s letter faster than Zolf had been expecting – Wilde wrote that of course he would invest in the new expansion of Smith mines. He wrote also that he was coming down to visit and was bringing a surprise. For once, Zolf was looking forward to seeing Wilde again. 

The day of Wilde’s supposed arrival dawned bright and clear. Sasha was already back from her morning stroll when Zolf hobbled down for breakfast – the injuries from the mine, while pronounced by Azu to be healing well, still slowed him down in the mornings.

‘Lovely day,’ Sasha commented, as Zolf sat heavily in his chair and dragged the toast rack closer. Zolf grunted in response.

‘You should go for a walk,’ she continued. ‘Get some fresh air before Wilde gets here.’

‘Maybe,’ Zolf said, going heavy on the butter.

‘Really, you should,’ Sasha said, her eyes glinting. ‘You’ve been inside a lot while you’ve been recovering. It’ll make you feel worlds better.’

‘You certainly do look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,’ Zolf commented. He thought about it – once Wilde arrived, the day would be devoted to paperwork and being stuck indoors. And it really was a lovely morning – the sun was streaming through the windows and bathing the room in warm yellow tones. ‘I will go for a walk,’ he said, just to see Sasha’s triumphant look. He knew her well enough to know she was planning something, but he didn’t know what it was except that she apparently needed him out of the house.

‘You should go and see the bluebell woods,’ Sasha said. ‘It’s beautiful.’

Out in the sunshine, breathing in the fresh country air and feeling the cool breeze on his face, Zolf did really feel better. It was early enough that there was still dew on the grass, and it glistened like jewels under the slanted morning sunlight. Zolf set a good pace as he headed towards the woods, his cane sinking slightly into the soft earth, already feeling healthier and more energised.

As he walked across the fields, he realised he could see another figure in the distance, slightly shrouded by the remnants of the early morning mist. Zolf slowed, and lifted a hand to his eyes to shield them from the sun so as to get a better look.

The figure was small and slim, and as they grew closer Zolf faltered – the sun shone bronze off Hamid’s hair and silhouetted his neat form, surrounding him with a golden corona.

‘Zolf?’ Hamid called, still a distance away, though walking faster now, running almost, across the damp grass. Zolf lurched forward too, and they met in the middle, staggering close and then halting just before collision.

‘You’re back,’ Zolf said. He didn’t know what else to say. Hamid looked just as he had in Zolf’s mind’s eye – better, even, since he was real and present now. 

‘I… I had some business in London,’ Hamid said, nervously. ‘I didn’t know how long it would take.’

‘Too long,’ Zolf said without thinking. He blushed.

‘Yes,’ Hamid agreed, ‘too long.’

He reached out a trembling hand. There was a smooth gold ring in his palm. Zolf froze, for a second – all his fears and doubts and worries fell suddenly silent. He had to remember to breathe.

‘My parents approve,’ Hamid said, stuttering slightly with nerves, ‘or at least, I’m a middle child, and the second son, so they have no real issue either way. But regardless – I love you, Zolf.’

Zolf let his cane fall to the grass and, ignoring the ring, pulled Hamid closer. They hadn’t ever been this close before except for in the dark of the mines, and now the morning sunlight lit every part of Hamid’s beloved face. Zolf drank it in, bathed in it.

‘If I loved you less,’ he croaked, ‘I might be able to talk about it more. I was worried that because I never said, when you left… that you didn’t know…’

‘I knew.’ Hamid said softly. ‘Or I hoped I did,’ he added. 

They kissed once, twice – softly, sweetly, and without haste – Zolf knew they had time, now, and he wanted to make the most of it. When they drew apart, Zolf huffed a laugh and rested his forehead against Hamid’s. 

‘June is too late in the year for bluebells,’ he said.

They discussed Sasha’s machinations on their way back to Smith manor, their hands entwined, the gold ring sitting firmly around Zolf’s finger. 

‘She told me that you usually take a morning walk across the fields near the boundary between yours and the MacGuffingham estate,’ Hamid explained.

‘She lied,’ Zolf said, shaking his head. ‘I haven’t gone for a proper walk in a long time. She knew I wouldn’t have gone if I knew you were there.’

‘You thought I left you?’

‘You didn’t send a letter – I didn’t know,’ Zolf said honestly. Hamid stopped him, then, and took his hands.

‘I did leave you a letter,’ he said, frowning. ‘I left it on your bedside table.’

‘Oh.’ Zolf mirrored Hamid’s frown. ‘I… I don’t remember seeing it.’

He remembered the glass of water, and… and then remembered the piece of paper he had assumed was repurposed as a coaster.

‘Oh,’ he said again, and two weeks of weight lifted from his shoulders in an instant.

*

Sasha was happy to see them, when they arrived at the manor, and gave Hamid a bone-crushing hug when Zolf showed her the gold ring. Hamid looked somewhat taken aback at the unusual affection but was smiling widely when Sasha drew away. 

Wilde arrived on time, uncharacteristically, and his carriage trundled to a stop outside Smith Manor at noon. He slid gracefully from his seat and beamed at them all.

‘Mr Smith, it is good to see you up and about. And with your new beau, no less.’ Wilde winked, and Zolf felt uncomfortably like Wilde had both expected it to happen and felt personally responsible.

There was a crash, and a second figure clambered out of the carriage. This newcomer had a shock of short white-blonde hair paired with very unusual clothes. They waved manically.

‘Hi!’ they called. Their accent marked them as from the colonies over in the New World, though it was sufficiently broad enough as to give no other information.

‘This is the surprise?’ Zolf asked, confused.

Wilde looked so smug that Zolf wanted to hate him.

‘The new mines are going to need a lot of work before they’re safe enough to run, you said? Well – this is Celiquillithon Sidebottom, the best engineer this side of the world.’

‘Call me Cel,’ said Cel.

*


End file.
